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IN  5.  F. CLUB 


George    Sterling    Discovered 
by     Valet     in     Bohemian  j 
Club;    Death    Apparently 
Came    in    Writer's    Sleep 

Demise  Unexpectedly  Fol- 
lows Illness  Diagnosed  as 
Mild;  Author  Noted  for 
Courage  and  Personality 

•   , 

PAX     F&ANCISCO, 

George     Sterlin 

found    dead    in    his   quar    • 

Bohemian     dub     today,     died     from 

swallowing 

tective  Lieutenant  Charli 

"I  don't  know  whether  he  killed 
himself  or  not,"  said  Dugleau.     "All 
say  i.s  that  there  is  no  ques- 
tion that  he  took  poison,  either  in- 
tentionally or  by  accident,  and  that 


Lute  Silenced 

GEORGE  STERLING, 
Oakland  and  San  Francisco 
poet,  who  was  found  dead  in  the 
Bohemian  club  today. 


V 


THE  HOUSE  OF  ORCHIDS 


V 


V 


*  • 


.•*•> 


V 


THE  HOUSE  OF  ORCHIDS 

AND  OTHER  POEMS 


BY 

GEORGE  STERLING 

Author  of  "The  Testimony  of  the  Suns 
and  "A  Wine  of  Wizardry" 


A.  M.  ROBERTSON 

SAN  FRANCISCO 

1911 


COPYRIGHT 

1911 
BY   GEORGE   STERLING 


Printed  by 

The  Stanley -Taylor  Company 
San  Francisco 


TO  MY  WIFE 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

DUANDON 9 

ALDEBARAN   AT  DUSK 22 

THE  CHARIOTS  OF  DAWN 23 

THE  HUNTRESS  OF  STARS 24 

THE  EVANESCENT 25 

MEMORY 28 

THE  MOTH  OF  TIME 29 

THE  BLACK  VULTURE 30 

THE   HOUSE  OF  ORCHIDS 31 

SONNETS  ON  THE  SEA^S  VOICE 40 

AUTUMN           44 

STARS  OF  THE  NOON 46 

THE  APOTHECARY'S 48 

THE  SWIMMERS 51 

BENEATH  THE  REDWOODS 58 

MUSIC  AT  DUSK        60 

THE  TIDES  OF  CHANGE 6l 

MORNING   TWILIGHT 62 

AN  ALTAR  OF  THE  WEST 64 

THE  FAUN                       .       ' 77 

THE  VOICES 8O 

A   CHARACTER 8l 

THE  GUERDON  OF  THE  SUN 84 


PAGE 

THE  GARDENS  OF  THE  SEA 86 

THE  SIBYL  OF  DREAMS QO 

THE  MUSIC  OF  SLEEP QI 

DUTY            92 

THE  ECHO  AND  THE  QUEST 93 

JUSTICE 96 

THE  FLEET IO2 

REMORSE            IO5 

MOONLIGHT  IN  THE  PINES IO/ 

AT  THE  GRAVE  OF  SERRA Ill 

WHITE  MAGIC 114 

THREE  SONNETS  BY  THE  NIGHT  SEA 117 

AFTER  THE  STORM I2O 

THE  HARLOT'S  AWAKENING 122 

THE  MIDGES 124 

TO  AMBROSE  BIERCE 126 

TO  HALL  B.  RAND I2/ 

TO  VERNON    L.    KELLOGG 128 

CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD 129 

THE  ASHES  IN  THE  SEA 132 

THE  FORTY-THIRD   CHAPTER  OF  JOB 135 


8 


DUANDON 

Duandon,  king  of  Aetna's  farthest  bound 
And  lord  of  isles  the  sea  is  loud  around, 
Beheld  the  crimson  fountains  of  the  dawn 
Bear  up  the  lark,  a  foam  of  song,  till  drawn 
By  some  new  sorrow  in  the  ocean's  tone, 
Thither  he  fared,  expectant  and  alone. 
Thither  he  fared,  fresh  from  the  sea  of  sleep, 
And  all  the  balmy  land  was  blossomed  deep, 
Nor  could  one  wander  save  on  helpless  flow'rs, 
Where  Summer  made  a  garland  of  the  hours 
And  bound  it  on  the  dew-dipt  brow  of  Morn, 
Bent  low  above  the  meadow's  blossom-bourn. 

I  But  past  all  peace  of  bowers  rang  the  call 
And  invocation  of  the  billows'  fall, 
And,  clean  from  kingdoms  of  the  sapphire  vast, 


DUANDON 

The  winds  of  ocean  smote  his  brow  at  last. 
Afar  he  saw  the  eddying  petrel  sweep 
O'er  reefs  where  hoarser  roared  the  thwarted  deep, 
And  soon  before  his  eyes,  exultant,  fain, 
Heavy  with  azure  gleamed  the  investing  main, 
And  quick  with  pulsings  of  a  distant  storm, 
Strong  as  that  music  floating  Troy  to  form. 
Splendid  the  everlasting  ocean  shone 
As  God's  blue  robe  upon  a  desert  thrown; 
Landward  he  saw  the  sea-born  breakers  fare, 
\  Young  as  a  wind  and  ancient  as  the  air; 
August  he  saw  the  unending  ranks  uproll, 
With  joy  and  wonder  mastering  the  soul, 
With  marvel  on  the  hearing  and  the  sight  — 
Green  fires,  and  billows  tremulous  with  light, 
With  shaken  soul  of  light  and  shuddering  blaze 
Of  leaping  emerald  and  cold  chrysoprase,  — 
The  surge  and  suspiration  of  the  sea, 
Great  waters  choral  of  eternity,  — 


10 


DUANDON 

The  mighty  dirge  that  will  not  cease  for  day 
Nor  all  the  stars'  invincible  array, — 
The  thunder  that  hath  set,  since  Time  began, 
Its  sorrow  in  the  lonely  heart  of  man. 

Long  stood  the  king  before  that  wide  review, 

Divining,  deep  beyond  its  sound  and  hue, 

Unfathomable  mystery  and  dream,— 

Rapture  and  woe  illusive  but  supreme; 

And  as  the  pine  against  the  sea-wind  sighs, 

So  thrilled  his  breast  with  whispers  and  surmise; 

Till,  on  a  beach  that  only  he  might  roam, 

The  sea,  from  broadest  tapestries  of  foam, 

From  mighty  looms  immaculate  and  cold, 

A  scarlet  shell  before  his  feet  uprolled. 

Wet  as  with  blood  against  the  dawn  it  flamed, 

Deep-whorled  and  irised,  lustrous  and  unnamed — 

A  jewel  of  the  sea  that  burned  and  shone 

Like  some  king-ruby  ravished  from  a  throne. 


11 


DUANDON 

And  long  Duandon  wandered,  all-amazed, 

And  long  upon  the  shell's  wild  beauty  gazed, 

Till,  half -unwitting,  swiftly  to  his  ear 

He  held  it,  fain  as  any  child  to  hear 

That  echo  like  the  murmuring  of  seas — 

Astray  forever  on  a  mournful  breeze 

And  borne  from  some  remote,  nocturnal  bound; 

Whereat  a  voice,  in  sorceries  of  sound 

To  which  the  grace  of  vanished  lyres  had  clung, 

Sang  from  the  shell  as  never  voice  hath  sung: 

Far  down,  where  virgin  silence  reigns ', 
In  jasper  evenings  of  the  sea, 
I  toss  my  pearls,  I  wait  for  thee. 

"the  sea  hath  lent  me  all  its  stains: 
It  is  but  treasure-house  of  me. 

*fhe  corals  of  the  deep  have  caught 
A  "titan  shell  whose  fragile  dome 


12 


DUANDON 

Is  crimson  o'er  mine  ocean  home — 
Mine  opal  chambers  subtly  wrought 
In  semblance  of  the  shaken  foam. 

Ok,  come!  and  thou  shall  dream  with  me 
By  violet  foam  at  twilight  tost 
On  strands  of  ocean  islets  lost 

3*0  prows  that  seek  them  wearily, 
O'er  seas  by  questing  sunsets  crost. 

All  dreams  that  Hope  hath  promised  Love, 
All  beauty  thou  hast  sought  in  vain, 
All  joy  held  once  and  lost  again, 

^fhese,  and  the  mystery  thereof, 

I  guard  beneath  the  sundering  main. 

So  rang  that  crystal  cry,  as  from  afar, 
Clear  as  the  voice  of  Heaven's  whitest  star, 
And  strong  Duandon  pondered,  with  his  gaze 


DUANDON 

Set  like  twin  stars  above  those  azure  ways. 
Keener  his  heart,  a  plummet,  yearned  to  sound 
The  gulf  that  held  his  soul  amazed  and  bound, 
Where,  darker  for  the  sky's  unclouded  dome, 
The  waves  took  sudden  coronals  of  foam, 
Till  half  he  deemed  he  saw,  far  out,  the  white 
Flung  arms  and  bosom  of  the  ocean-sprite. 
Hour  beyond  hour,  until  the  sun  was  fled, 
Strode  he  on  sands  that  none  but  he  might  tread; 
Hour  beyond  hour  one  sight  his  vision  drank — 
A  foam-white  arm  that  beckoned  once,  and  sank. 
Then,  wave  to  wave  in  deeper  anthems  roared, 
And  realm  by  realm  the  belted  sunset  soared, 
As  tho'  a  city  of  the  Titans  burned 
In  lands  below  the  sea-line,  undiscerned, 
Till  desolation  touched  it,   zone  by  zone, 
Its  splendors  gone,  like  jewels  turned  to  stone, 
And  sad  with  evening  sang  the  ocean-choirs, 
Domed  by  the  stars'  imperishable  fires. 


DUANDON 

But  still  Duandon  lingered  on  the  sands 
And  clasped  the  shell  with  indecisive  hands; 
Ghostly  it  gleamed,  nor  music  would  outpour 
Save  of  the  sea  on  some  disastrous  shore. 
And  still  he  stood,  and  listened  but  to  hark 
The  surf,  like  dragons  battling  in  the  dark; 
Implacable  they  ravened,  ere  the  moon, 
A  towering  glory  on  the  eastern  dune, 
A  frozen  splendor  on  the  seething  strand, 
In  silver  webs  had  snared  the  sea  and  land. 
Then,  as  on  hostile  waves  her  arrows  leapt, 
Duandon  turned  him  from  the  sea,  and  slept. 
Slept,  but  the  morning  found  him  yet  again 
A  lonely  searcher  of  the  lonelier  main; 
And  night  by  night,  and  day  by  barren  day, 
Silent  he  stood  before  the  waves'  array — 
The  victim  of  an  unrelenting  strife 
Of  joy  with  death,  of  love  with  love  of  life. 
Ever  at  dawn  the  voice  from  out  the  shell 
Renewed  within  his  heart  the  siren's  spell; 

15 


DUANDON 

Ever  the  wild,  enchanting  melody 
Rang  as  the  sun  was  wedded  to  the  sea. 
And  still  the  royal  pageant  of  the  world 
Before  his  doom-bewildered  eyes  unfurled, 
With  dusky  stain  of  sunsets  northward  drawn 
And  cloudy  headlands  of  the  coasts  of  dawn. 
Beyond  that  realm  of  jade  and  jade-bound  bays, 
He  saw  the  sapphire  fields  of  ocean  blaze; 
Heard  the  alliant  waters  chant  their  rune 
Before  the  turquoise  battlements  of  noon, 
Where  evening  armies  of  the  mist  would  roam 
As  twilight  mixed  its  purple  with  the  foam, — 
Where  sunlight,  checked  in  its  torrential  leap, 
Would  froth  at  dawn  about  some  cloudland  steep. 
Debarred  was  peace,  tho'  Sleep,  with  tender  hand, 
Led  him  awhile  in  her  allaying  land; 
For  soon  the  sea  flowed  in  upon  his  dream 
And  far  below  he  saw  the  Singer  gleam — 
Her  floating  hair  and  pearly  body's  grace, 

16 


DUANDON 

With  sunken  moonlight  pure  upon  her  face. 
So  still  he  yearned,  on  whom  her  spell  was  laid, 
And  ever  sunset,  like  a  golden  blade, 
Cut  day  by  day  from  life,  and  ever  he 
Heard  like  the  voice  of  Death  the  lordly  sea, 
Chanting,  enthroned  on  choric  reef  and  bars, 
Its  midnight  song  below  the  western  stars, 
And  all  the  stars  seemed  minis trant  to  doom 
As  high  Orion  trod  his  arc  of  gloom. 

Broke  then  a  morning  when  the  weary  sea 
Lay  husht  above  its  halls  of  mystery; 
Besieging  fog  hung  mute  on  shore  and  vale, 
With  pallid  banners  and  with  ashen  mail, 
And  ocean,  grey  as  with  oblivion, 
Lay  hidden  from  the  visage  of  the  sun. 
High  noon  drave  not  the  phantom  army  forth, 
Nor  winds  slow-seeping  from  the  muffled  North, 
And  weary  with  its  vigil  of  the  deep, 


DUANDON 

Duandon's  soul  put  out  on  seas  of  sleep; 
Dreamless  he  lay  ere  sunset,  and  the  shell, 
Unguarded,  from  assenting  fingers  fell. 
Came  then,  nor  spilt  that  anodyne  of  rest, 
His  only  son,  impatient  with  the  quest, 
New-fared  from  crimson  victories  of  war, — 
Tall  as  the  spears  that  lesser  champions  bore. 
To  him  the  horizon  was  a  smitten  chord 
That  rang  in  challenge  to  his  youthful  sword, 
And  thrilled  with  all  the  murmurs  of  romance 
The  realms  remote  from  his  insatiate  lance. 
Silent  awhile  he  stood,  and  ere  he  spoke, 
Routed  at  last,  the  sea-mist's  army  broke, 
And,  as  its  ranks  fled  landward  to  their  knell, 
The  consummating  sunset  smote  the  shell 

Duandon  woke  below  the  evening  star, 

And  saw  the  foam's  incessant  scimetar 

Leap  from  the  billow's  sheath,  and  heard  the  cry 

18 


DUANDON 

;    Of  winds  unleashed  upon  the  western  sky; 

(Forlorn  beyond  the  darkling  waters  lay 
The  sullen  embers  of  the  pyre  of  Day — 
Dull,  ere  obscuring  night  should  make  the  sea 
One  with  the  reaches  of  infinity; 
Then  to  the  sands  his  gaze  returned,  to  meet 
The  seaward  print  of  unreturning  feet. 
Gone  was  the  shell;  a  sword  lay  in  its  stead, 
From  altars  of  the  buried  sun  made  red — 
A  blade  he  knew  so  well  from  all  the  rest 
It  seemed  that  instant  to  transfix  his  breast. 
Afar  or  near,  on  waters  grey  and  lone, 
No  swimmer  drave,  no  arm  uplifted  shone; 
Austere  and  vacant  rolled  the  cryptic  main, 
Unsearchable:    the  prince  came  not  again, 
Unseen  on  tawny  beach  or  waters  loud, — 
Gone  like  the  shadow  of  a  vanished  cloud. 

Aye!  better  vanished,  than  to  wait,  as  he, 

19 


DUANDON 

Duandon,  silent  by  the  unmastered  sea, 

From  which,  till  death,  his  heart  was  doomed  to 

crave 

The  uncomprehended  tidings  of  the  wave — 
An  echo  of  that  music  from  the  shell 
Forever  vibrant  in  its  fall  and  swell — 
Was  fated,  still,  from  azure  gulfs  to  dream 
He  saw  the  arm  of  some  white  swimmer  gleam, 
Flung  for  an  instant  from  the  shifting  spray — 
Siren,  or  son,  or  both,  he  could  not  say. 
And  feelest  thou  no  pangs  of  beauty  lost, 
When  morning  waves  or  waters  sunset-crost 
Cry  to  thy  soul,  unsatisfied,  alone, 
Of  Isles  to  which  its  younger  dreams  haye  flown? 
The  might-have-been,   the  nevermore-to-be, 
Bears  not  the  deep  their  antiphon  to  thee4? 
For  man  has  found,  as  man  shall  ever  find, 
Some  echo  of  his  travail  on  the  wind, 
And  sigh  of  great  Departures,  and  the  breath   / 


20 


DUANDON 

I  Of  pinions  incontestable  by  Death. 
Of  stars  and  shadows  past  to-morrow's  ken 
He  finds  him  vision  and  announcement,  when, 
As  storms  beyond  the  horizon-line  prolong 
The  sea's  imperious,  eternal  song, 
The  thunder-chorded  surf  on  yellow  sands 
Resounds,  like  harps  on  which  the  gods  lay  hands. 


21 


THREE  SONNETS  OF  THE  NIGHT  SKIES 


ALDEBARAN  AT  DUSK 

Thou  art  the  star  for  which  all  evening  waits — 

O  star  of  peace,  come  tenderly  and  soon! 

As  for  the  drowsy  and  enchanted  moon, 
She  dreams  in  silver  at  the  eastern  gates 
Ere  yet  she  brim  with  light  the  blue  estates 

Abandoned  by  the  eagles  of  the  noon. 

But  shine  thou  swiftly  on  the  darkling  dune 
And  woodlands  where  the  twilight  hesitates. 

Above  that  wide  and  ruby  lake  to- West 
Wherein  the  sunset  waits  reluctantly, 

Stir  silently  the  purple  wings  of  Night. 
She  stands  afar,  upholding  to  her  breast, 
As  mighty  murmurs  reach  her  from  the  sea, 
Thy  lone  and  everlasting  rose  of  light. 


22 


THREE  SONNETS  OF  THE  NIGHT  SKIES 

II 
THE  CHARIOTS  OF  DAWN 

O  Night,  is  this  indeed  the  morning-star, 

That  now  with  brandished  and  impatient  beam 
On  eastern  heights  of  darkness  flames  supreme, 

Or  some  great  captain  of  the  dawn,  whose  car 

Scornful  of  all  thy  rear-guard  ranks  that  bar 
His  battle,  now  foreruns  the  helms  that  gleam 
Below  horizons  of  dissevering  dream, 

Who  lifts  his  javelin  to  his  hosts  afar^ 

Now  am  I  minded  of  some  ocean-king 

That  in  a  war  of  gods  has  wielded  arms, 
And  still  in  slumber  hears  their  harness  ring 

And  dreams  of  isles  where  golden  altars  fume, 
Till,  mad  for  irretrievable  alarms, 

He  passes  down  the  seas  to  some  strange  doom. 


<?HREE  SONNETS  OF  <?HE  NIGHf  SKIES 

III 
THE  HUNTRESS  OF  STARS 

Tell  me,  O  Night!  what  horses  hale  the  moon! 
Those  of  the  sun  rear  now  on  Syria's  day, 
But  here  the  steeds  of  Artemis  delay 

At  heavenly  rivers  hidden  from  the  noon, 

Or  quench  their  starry  thirst  at  cisterns  hewn 
In  midnight's  deepest  sapphire,  ere  she  slay 
The  Bull,  and  hide  the  Pleiades'  dismay, 

Or  drown  Orion  in  a  silver  swoon. 

4 

Are  those  the  stars,  and  not  their  furious  eyes, 
That  now  before  her  coming  chariot  glare? 

Is  that  their  nebulous,  phantasmal  breath 
Trailed  like  a  mist  upon  the  winter  skies, 

Or  vapors  from  a  Titan's  pyre  of  death — 
Far-wafted  on  the  orbit  of  Altair? 


24 


THE  EVANESCENT 

The  wind  upon  the  mountain-side 

Sang  to  the  dew:    "My  moments  fly: 
In  yonder  valley  I  must  die. 

How  long  thy  restless  gems  abide!" 

Low  to  the  bent  and  laden  grass 

There  came  the  whisper  of  the  dew: 
"My  lessening  hours,  how  fleet  and  few! 

What  months  are  thine  ere  thou  shalt  pass!" 

The  grass  made  murmur  to  the  tree: 
"My  days  a  little  time  are  fair; 
But  oh!  thy  brooding  years  to  share — 

The  centuries  that  foster  thee!" 


<fHE  EVANESCENT 

Ere  died  the  wind  the  tree  had  said: 
"O  mountain  marvellous  and  strong, 
The  aeons  of  thine  age — how  long, 

When  I  and  all  my  kin  lie  dead!" 

The  mountain  spake:    "O  sea!   thy  strength 

Forevermore  I  shall  not  face. 

At  last  I  sink  to  thine  embrace; 
Thy  waves  await  my  ramparts'  length." 

The  deep  gave  moan:    "O  stars  supreme! 

Your  eyes  shall  see  me  mute  in  death. 

Before  your  gaze  I  fade  like  breath 
Of  vapors  in  a  mortal's  dream." 

Then  bore  the  Void  a  choral  cry, 
Descendent  from  the  starry  throng: 
"A  little,  and  our  ancient  song 

Dies  at  thy  throne,  Eternity!" 


26 


fHE  EVANESCENT 

Then,  silence  on  the  heavenly  Deep, 
Wherein  that  music  sank  unheard, 
As  shuts  the  midnight  on  a  word 

Said  by  a  dreamer  in  his  sleep. 


MEMORY 

She  stands  beside  the  ocean  of  the  Past, 

A  diver.      Pearls  and  hydras  can  she  bring, 
Shells  for  the  child  and  crystals  for  the  king. 

Prone  on  her  reefs  the  sea-essaying  mast 

And  keels  that  dared  the  hurricane  are  cast — 
Trophies  of  tides  invincible  that  swing 
Around  the  islands  where  the  Sirens  sing, 

The  magic  of  whose  song  is  hers  at  last. 

Some  shadow  of  the  glory  she  restores, 

Tho3  wave  and  wind  devour  the  Ships  of  Dream ; 

For  many  mark  her  ere  the  fall  of  night, 
When  the  surfs  sound  is  mighty  on  her  shores, 
Singing,  as  wildly  on  her  bosom  gleam 
The  sea-dews,  and  the  rubies  of  the  light. 


28 


THE  MOTH  OF  TIME 

Lo!  this  audacious  vision  of  the  dust — 

This   dream   that   it  hath   dreamt!       Unresting 

wings, 
Too  strong  for  Time,  too  frail  for  timeless  things ! 

Whence  all  thy  thirst  for  God,  thy  piteous  lust 

For  life  to  be  when  matter's  chain  shall  rust? 
What  pact  hast  thou  with  the  undying  kings, 
Silence  and  Death?      What  sibyl's  counsellings 

Assure  thee  that  the  eternal  laws  are  just? 

Nay!  all  thy  hopes  are  nothing  to  the  Night, 
And  justice  but  a  figment  of  thy  dream! 

Upon  the  waste  what  wide  mirages  glow, 
With  hills  that  shift,  and  palms  that  mock  the  sight, 
And  cities  on  the  desert's  far  extreme — 

Those  veils  we  name,  and  dare  to  think  we 
know! 


29 


THE  BLACK  VULTURE 

Aloof  upon  the  day's  immeasured  dome, 

He  holds  unshared  the  silence  of  the  sky. 

Far  down  his  bleak,  relentless  eyes  descry 
The  eagle's  empire  and  the  falcon's  home — 
Far  down,  the  galleons  of  sunset  roam; 

His  hazards  on  the  sea  of  morning  lie; 

Serene,  he  hears  the  broken  tempest  sigh 
Where  cold  sierras  gleam  like  scattered  foam. 

And  least  of  all  he  holds  the  human  swarm — 
Unwitting  now  that  envious  men  prepare 

To  make  their  dream  and  its  fulfilment  one, 
When,  poised  above  the  caldrons  of  the  storm, 
Their  hearts,  contemptuous  of  death,  shall  dare 
His  roads  between  the  thunder  and  the  sun. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  ORCHIDS 

Dedicated  to  Mrs.  Joseph  B.  Coryell 

How  swift  a  step  from  zone  to  zone! 

A  moment  since,  the  day 
Was  cool  with  winds  from  linden-bowers  flown 

And  breath  of  mounded  hay 

That  ripens  on  the  plains, 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  the  western  hill; 

But  here  the  air  is  still, 
Warm  as  a  Lesbian  valley's  afternoon 

Made  langourous  with  June 
And  moist  with  spirits  of  unnumbered  rains, 
Pervaded  with  a  perfume  that  might  be 
Of  rainbow-haunted  lands  beyond  the  sea 

And  ocean-ending  sands — 
A  ghost  of  fragrance  whose  elusive  hands 
Touch  not  the  hidden  harp  of  memory. 


HOUSE  OF  ORCHIDS 


What  sprites  are  those  that  gleam'? 
Can  eyes  betray? 

Till  now  I  did  not  deem 

That  Beauty's  flaming  hands  could  shape  in  bloom 
So  marvelous  and  delicate  designs. 

The  vision  here  that  shines 
Seems  not  a  fabric  of  our  mortal  day 

And  Nature's  tireless  loom, 

By  custom  long  defiled, 
But  symbol  of  a  loveliness  supreme, 

A  god's  forgotten  dream 
In  alabaster  told  by  elfin  skill 
In  caverns  underneath  a  haunted  hill, 
Or  in  some  palace  of  enchantment  hewn 
From  crystal  in  the  twilights  of  the  moon, 

Where  white  Astarte  strays 
And  Echo  and  the  silver-footed  fays 
Make  alien  music,  fugitive  and  wild. 

Ye  seem  as  flowers  exiled, 


THE  HOUSE  OF  ORCHIDS 

More  beautiful  because  they  die  so  soon; 
But  who  the  gods  that  could  have  scorned 

Your  tenderness  unmarred? 
Put  first  ye  forth  your  fragile  wings, 
Less  of  the  form  than  of  the  soul  of  things, 

Where  seraphim  had  mourned 
In  Eden's  evening,  heavy-starred, 
When  first  the  gates  were  barred 

And  cruel  Time  began? 
For  mystery  hath  lordship  here,  and  ye 
Seem  spirit-flowers  born  to  startle  man 
With  intimations  of  eternity 
And  hint  of  what  the  flowers  of  Heaven  may  be. 
Nor  can  your  glamour  greatly  seem  of  earth: 

Her  blossoms  are  of  mirth, 
But  ye  with  loveliness  can  tell  of  grief — 
Unhappy  love  most  exquisite  and  brief. 

Winged  ye  seem  and  fleet, 
33 


<fHE  HOUSE  OF  ORCHIDS 

Such  flowers  pale  as  are 
Worn  by  the  goddess  of  a  distant  star — 

Before  whose  holy  eyes 

Beauty  and  evening  meet, 
Mysterious  beauty  delicate   and  strange, 

And  evening-calm  that  sighs 
With  Music's  inexpressible  surmise— 

Her  question  ere  she  dies. 

From  form  to  form  ye  range, 

From  hue  to  hue, 

And  this,  with  petals  wan  and  mystical, 
Seems  votive  to  those  spirits  of  the  dew 
That  weep  at  silvern  twilights  silently, 

With  tears  that  gently  fall 
On  hidden  elves  dim-curtained  by  the  rose. 

And  thou,  thy  chalice  better  glows 
In  purple  grottos  where  the  stainless  sea 
On  sands  inviolable  swirls — 

On  evanescent  pearls, 


34 


THE  HOUSE  OF  ORCHIDS 
That  hold  not  all  thy  bosom's  purity. 

And  thou,  more  white 

Than  when  on  some  blue  lake, 

Just  as  the  zephyrs  wake, 

The  ripples  flash  to  light — 
Touched  by  a  swan's  unsullied  breast  to  foam, 
Hadst  thou  in  melancholy  halls  thy  home? 
For  long  ago  thou  seemest  to  have  slept, 
Forlorn,  in  palace-glooms  where  queens  have  wept. 

Ah!  they  too  slept  at  last, 
Whose  sighs  are  half  the  music  of  the  Past! 

But  thou,  O  palest  one! 
Dost  seem  to  scorn  the  sun, 
And,  in  a  tropic,  dense, 
Languid  magnificence, 
Desire  to  know  thy  former  place, 
Where  no  man  comes  at  night, 

35 


<fHE  HOUSE  OF  ORCHIDS 

And  in  its  antic  flight 
Behold  the  vampire-bat  veer  off  from  thee 

As  from  a  phantom  face, 
Or  watch  Antares'  light  peer  craftily 

Down  from  the  dank  and  moonless  sky, 

As  goblins'  eyes  might  gleam 

Or  baleful  rubies  glare, 
Muffled  in  smoke  or  incense-laden  air. 
And  thou,  most  weird  companion,  thou  dost  seem 

Some  mottled  moth  of  Hell, 

That  stealthily  might  fly 
To  hover  there  above  the  carnal  bell 
Of  some  black  lily,  still  and  venomous, 

And  poise  forever  thus. 

Chill,  in  thy  drowsy  aether  warm, 
Softly  thou  gleamest,  subtler  form; 

Witch-bloom  thou  seem'st  to  be, 
For  Lilith  would  have  bound  thee  in  her  hair — 


THE  HOUSE  OF  ORCHIDS 

Smiling  at  dusk  inscrutably, 
And  Circe  gathered  such  for  gods  to  wear, 

In  evenings  when  the  moon, 
A  sorceress  who  steals  in  white 
Along  the  cloudy  parapets  of  night, 
In  every  glade  her  ghostly  pearl  hath  strewn. 

Thou  art  as  violet-wan 
As  eyelids  of  a  vestal  dead  and  meek. 
If  after-life  can  come  to  blossoms  gone, 
Surely  Persephone 
Shall  crown  her  brow  with  thee, 
In  realms  where  burns  nor  star  nor  sun 
To  show  the  dead  what  amaranths  to  seek. 

And  ah — this  other!  none 
Of  all  thy  kin  more  purely  is  arrayed — 
Pallid  as  Aphrodite's  cheek 
To  some  long  passion-swoon  betrayed, 

By  ecstasy  foretold; 
Yet  as  with  blood  thy  bosom  gleams; 


37 


<?HE  HOUSE  OF  ORCHIDS 

Red  as  Adonis'  wound  it  seems, 

By  Syria  mourned  of  old, 
Or  scarlet  lips  that  drink  from  bowls  of  jade, 
Slowly,   an  ivory  poison,   sweet  and  cold 

Oh!  mystically  strange 
That  speechless  things  should  so  have  power  to  hint, 

With  subtle  form  and  tint 
That  seize  the  heart's  high  memories  unaware, 
The  sorrow  and  the  mystery  of  Change, 
And  elements  in  Fate's  controlling  plan 
Not  altogether  ministrant  to  man 

No'r  mindful  of  his  care — 

Some  joy  to  death  akin, 
Or  tragic  kiss,  or  fruit  malignly  fair, 

Some  garden  built  by  Sin 

For  Love  to  wander  in, 
Some  face  whose  beauty  bids  the  heart  despair! 

And  yet,  O  blossoms  pure! 


fHE  HOUSE  OF  ORCHIDS 

How  marvelous  the  lure 
Of  your  fragility  and  innocence — 
This  grace  and  wistfulness  of  helpless  things 

That  ask  no  recompense! 

Ye  give  the  spirit  wings, 
For  yours  the  beauty  that  is  near  to  pain, 

And  stir  the  heart  again 
With  visions  of  the  Flowers  that  abide — 
Ah!  sweet 

As  when  love's  glances  meet 
Across  the  music,  heard  at  eventide! 

Lloyden,  June,  1909. 


39 


SONNETS  ON  THE  SEA'S  VOICE 


Thou  seem'st  to  call  to  that  which  will  not  hear, 
As  man  to  Fate.      Thine  anthems  uncontrolled, 
From  winnowed  sands  and  reefs  reverberant 
rolled, 

Shake  as  with  sorrow,  and  the  hour  is  near 

Wherein  thy  voice  shall  seem  a  thing  of  fear, 
Like  to  a  lion's  at  the  trembling  fold; 
And  men  shall  waken  to  the  midnight  cold, 

And  feel  that  dawn  is  far,  that  night  is  drear. 

Thou  wert  ere  Life,  a  dim  but  quenchless  spark, 

Found  vesture  in  thy  vastness.      Thou  shalt  be 
When  Life  hath  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  Dark, — • 
When  shackling  ice  hath  zoned  at  last  thy 

breast, 

And  thy  deep  voice  is  hushed,  O  vanquished  Sea ! 
One  with  eternity  that  giveth  rest. 


40 


SONNETS  ON  3HE  SEA'S  VOICE 
II 

No  cloud  is  on  the  heavens,  and  on  the  sea 
No  sail:  the  immortal,  solemn  ocean  lies 
Unbroken  sapphire  to  the  walling  skies — 

Immutable,  supreme  in  majesty. 

The  billows,  where  the  charging  foam  leaps  free, 
Burden  the  winds  with  thunder.  Soul,  arise! 
For  ghostly  trumpet-blasts  and  battle-cries 

Across  the  tumult  wake  the  Past  for  thee. 

They  call  me  to  a  dim,  disastrous  land, 
Where  fallen  marbles  tell  of  mighty  years, 
Heroic  architraves,  but  where  the  gust 
Ripples  forsaken  waters.      Lo!  I  stand 

With  armies  round  about,  and  in  mine  ears 
The  roar  of  harps  reborn  from  legend's  dust. 


SONNETS  ON  THE  SEA'S  VOICE 

III 

How  very  still  this  odorous,  dim  space 
Amid  the  pines!  the  light  is  reverent, 
Pausing  as  one  who  stands  with  meek  intent 

On  thresholds  of  an  everlasting  place. 

A  single  iris  waits  in  weary  grace — 

Her  countenance  before  the  dawning  bent, 
As  Faith  might  linger,  husht  and  innocent, 

With  all  an  altar's  glory  on  her  face. 

But  silence  now  is  hateful:      I  would  be, 
By  midnight  dark  and  wild  as  Satan's  soul, 
Where  the  winds'  unreturning  charioteers 
Lash,  with  the  hurtling  scourges  of  the  sea, 
Their  frantic  steeds  to  some  tempestuous  goal- 
The  deep's  enormous  music  in  their  ears. 


42 


SONNETS  ON  THE  SEA'S  VOICE 
IV 

O  thou  unalterable  sea!  how  vast 

Thine  utterance!      What  portent  in  thy  tone, 

As  here  thy  giant  choirs,   august,   alone, 
Roll  forth  their  diapason  to  the  blast! — 
Great  waters  hurled  and  broken  and  upcast 

In  timeless  splendour  and  unmeasured  moan, 

As  tho'  Eternity  to  years  unknown 
Bore  witness  of  the  sorrows  of  the  Past. 

Thou  callest  to  a  deep  within  my  soul — 
Un traversed  and  unsounded;  at  thy  voice 

Abysses  move  with  phantoms  unbegot. 
What  paeans  haunt  me  and  what  pangs  control ! — 
Thunders  wherewith  the  seraphim  rejoice, 
And  mighty  hunger  for  I  know  not  what. 


43 


AUTUMN 

Now  droops  the  troubled  year 
And  now  her  tiny  sunset  stains  the  leaf. 
A  holy  fear, 

A  rapt,  elusive  grief, 
Make  imminent  the  swift,  exalting  tear. 

The  long  wind's  weary  sigh — 
Knowest,  O  listener!  for  what  it  wakes'? 
Adown  the  sky 

What  star  of  Time  forsakes 
Her  pinnacle^      What  dream  and  dreamer  die? 

A  presence  half -divine 
Stands  at  the  threshold,  ready  to  depart 
Without  a  sign. 

Now  seems  the  world's  deep  heart 
About  to  break.      What  sorrow  stirs  in  mine? 


44 


AUTUMN 

A  mist  of  twilight  rain 
Hides  now  the  orange  edges  of  the  day. 
In  vain,  in  vain 

We  labor  that  thou  stay, 
Beauty  who  wast,  and  shalt  not  be  again! 


45 


STARS  OF  THE  NOON 

Untaught,  I  meet  the  question  of  the  hours — 
Travail  and  prayer  and  call; 

But  ye,  with  stillness  deeper  than  the  flow'rs', 
O  stars!  can  answer  all. 

Now,  tho'  the  sapphire  walls  of  noon  forbid 

Your  beams  compassionate, 
Witheld  by  light,  as  love  by  silence  hid, 

Unchanging  ye  await, 

Till  Day,  whom  all  the  swords  of  sunset  bar 

From  Edens  daily  lost, 
Pass,  and  your  lonely  armies  sink  afar 

To  oceans  nightly  crost. 

46 


STARS  OF  THE  NOON 

Ah!  when,  ere  long,  I  watch  your  kingdoms  reach 

Past  the  departed  sun, 
Will  ye,  in  silence  holier  than  speech, 

Tell  that  our  ways  are  one? — 

That  I,  as  ye,  vanish  awhile  in  day 

(The  day  we  reckon  night), 
Till  dusks  of  birth  reveal  the  backward  way 

To  darkness  reckoned  light? 

Come!  for  the  ancient  Altar  waits  your  flame, 

The  seas  of  shadow  call, 
And,  exile  of  a  land  I  cannot  name, 

Homesick,  I  question  all. 


47 


THE  APOTHECARY'S 

Its  red  and  emerald  beacons  from  the  night 
Draw  human  moths  in  melancholy  flight, 
With  beams  whose  gaudy  glories  point  the  way 
To  safety  or  destruction — choose  who  may! 
Crystal  and  powder,  oils  or  tincture  clear, 
Such  the  dim  sight  of  man  beholds,  but  here 
Await,  indisputable  in  their  pow'r, 
Great  Presences,  abiding  each  his  hour; 
And  for  a  little  price  rash  man  attains 
This  council  of  the  perils  and  the  pains — 
This  parliament  of  death,  and  brotherhood 
Omniponent  for  evil  and  for  good. 

Venoms  of  vision,  myrrh  of  splendid  swoons, 

48 


APOfHECARTS 


They  wait  us  past  the  green  and  scarlet  moons. 

Here  prisoned  rest  the  tender  hands  of  Peace, 

And  there  an  angel  at  whose  bidding  cease 

The  clamors  of  the  tortured  sense,  the  strife 

Of  nerves  confounded  in  the  war  of  life. 

Within  this  vial  pallid  Sleep  is  caught, 

In  that,  the  sleep  eternal.      Here  are  sought 

Such  webs  as  in  their  agonizing  mesh 

Draw  back  from  doom  the  half-reluctant  flesh. 

There  beck  the  traitor  joys  to  him  who  buys, 

And  Death  sits  panoplied  in  gorgeous  guise. 

The  dusts  of  hell,  the  dews  of  heavenly  sods, 
Water  of  Lethe  or  the  wine  of  gods, 
Purchase  who  will,  but,  ere  his  task  begin, 
Beware  the  service  that  you  set  the  djinn! 
Each  hath  his  mercy,  each  his  certain  law, 
And  each  his  Lord  behind  the  veil  of  awe; 
But  ponder  well  the  ministry  you  crave, 


49 


THE  APO<fHECART'S 

Lest  he  be  final  master,  you  the  slave. 

Each  hath  a  price,  and  each  a  tribute  gives 

To  him  who  turns  from  life  and  him  who  lives. 

If  so  you  win  from  Pain  a  swift  release, 

His  face  shall  haunt  you  in  the  house  of  Peace; 

If  so  from  Pain  you  scorn  an  anodyne, 

Peace  shall  repay  you  with  a  draft  divine. 

Tho'  toil  and  time  be  now  by  them  surpast, 

Exact  the  recompense  they  take  at  last — 

These  genii  of  the  vials,  wreaking  still 

Their  sorceries  on  human  sense  and  will. 


50 


THE  SWIMMERS 

We  were  eight  fishers  of  the  western  sea, 
Who  sailed  our  craft  beside  a  barren  land, 
Where  harsh  with  pines  the  herdless  mountains 
stand 

And  lonely  beaches  be. 

There  no  man  dwells,  and  ships  go  seldom  past; 
Yet  sometimes  there  we  lift  our  keels  ashore, 
To  rest  in  safety  'mid  the  broken  roar 
And  mist  of  surges  vast. 

One  strand  we  know,  remote  from  all  the  rest, 
For  north  and  south  the  cliffs  are  high  and  steep, 
Whose  naked  leagues  of  rock  repel  the  deep, 
Insurgent  from  the  west. 


<fHE  SWIMMERS 

Tawny  it  lies,  untrodden  e'er  by  man, 

Save  when  from  storm  we  sought  its  narrow  rift 
To  beach  our  craft  and  light  a  fire  of  drift 
And  sleep  till  day  began. 

Along  its  sands  no  flower  nor  bird  has  home. 
Abrupt  its  breast,  girt  by  no  splendor  save 
The  whorled  and  curving  emerald  of  the  wave 
And  scarves  of  rustling  foam — 

A  place  of  solemn  beauty;  yet  we  swore, 
By  all  the  ocean  stars'  unhasting  flight, 
To  seek  no  refuge  for  another  night 
Upon  that  haunted  shore. 

That  year  a  sombre  autumn  held  the  earth. 

At  dawn  we  sailed  from  out  our  village  bay; 
j    We  sang;  a  taut  wind  leapt  along  the  day; 
The  sea-birds  mocked  our  mirth. 


<THE  SWIMMERS 

Southwest  we  drave,  like  arrows  to  a  mark; 

• 

Ere  set  of  sun  the  coast  was  far  to  lee, 
Where  thundered  over  by  the  white-hooved  sea 
The  reefs  lie  gaunt  and  dark. 

But  when  we  would  have  cast  our  hooks,  the  main 
Grew  wroth  a-sudden,  and  our  captains  said: 
"Seek  we  a  shelter."      And  the  west  was  red; 
God  gave  his  winds  the  rein. 

And  eastward  lay  the  sands  of  which  I  told; 
Thither  we  fled,  and  on  the  narrow  beach 
Drew  up  our  keels  beyond  the  lessening  reach 
Of  waters  green  and  cold. 

Then  set  the  wounded  sun.      The  wind  blew  clean 
The  skies.      A  wincing  star  came  forth  at  last. 
We  heard  like  mighty  tellings  on  the  blast 
The  shock  of  waves  unseen. 


53 


<fHE  SWIMMERS 

The  wide-winged  Eagle  hovered  overhead; 
The  Scorpion  crept  slowly  in  the  south 
To  pits  below  the  horizon;  in  its  mouth 
Lay  a  young  moon  that  bled. 

And  from  our  fire  the  ravished  flame  swept  back, 
Like  yellow  hair  of  one  who  flies  apace, 
Compelled  in  lands  barbarian  to  race 
With  lions  on  her  track. 

Then  from  the  maelstroms  of  the  surf  arose 
Wild  laughter,  mystical,  and  up  the  sands 
Came  Two  that  walked  with  intertwining  hands 
Amid  those  ocean  snows. 

Ghostly  they  shone  before  the  lofty  spray — 
Fairer  than  gods  and  naked  as  the  moon, 
The  foamy  fillets  at  their  ankles  strewn 
Less  marble-white  than  they. 


<fHE  SWIMMERS 

Laughing  they  stood,  then  to  our  beacon's  glare 
Drew  nearer,  as  we  watched  in  mad  surprise 
The  scarlet-flashing  lips,  the  sea-green  eyes, 
The  red  and  tangled  hair. 

Then  spoke  the  god  (goddess  and  god  they  seemed), 
In  harplike  accents  of  a  tongue  unknown — 
About  his  brows  the  dripping  locks  were  blown; 
Like  wannest  gold  he  gleamed. 

• 
Staring  we  sat;  again  the  Vision  spoke. 

Beyond  his  form  we  saw  the  billows  rave, — 
The  leap  of  those  white  leopards  in  the  wave, — 
The  spume  of  seas  that  broke. 

Yet  sat  we  mute,  for  then  a  human  word 

Seemed  folly's  worst.     And  scorn  began  to  trace 
Its  presence  on  the  wild,  imperious  face; 
Again  the  red  lips  stirred, 


55 


<fHE  SWIMMERS 

But  spoke  not.      In  an  instant  we  were  free 
From  that  enchantment:  fleet  as  deer  they  turned 
And  sudden  amber  leapt  the  sands  they  spurned. 
We  saw  them  meet  the  sea. 

We  heard  the  seven-chorded  surf,   unquelled, 
Call  .in  one  thunder  to  the  granite  walls; 
But  over  all,  like  broken  clarion-calls, 
Disdainful  laughter  welled. 

Then  silence,  save  for  cloven  wave  and  wind. 
Our  fire  had  faltered  on  its  little  dune. 
Far  out  a  fog-wall  reared,  and  hid  the  moon. 
The  night  lay  vast  and  blind. 

Silent,  we  waited  the  assuring  morn, 

Which  rose  on  angered  waters.      But  we  set 
Our  hooded  prows  to  sea,  and,  tempest-wet, 
Beat  up  the  coast  forlorn. 


<fHE  SWIMMERS 

And  no  man  scorned  our  tale,  for  well  they  knew 
Had  mystery  befallen:  in  our  eyes 
Were  alien  terrors  and  unknown  surmise. 
Men  saw  the  tale  was  true. 

And  no  man  seeks  a  refuge  on  that  shore, 
Tho  tempests  gather  in  impelling  skies; 
Unseen,  unsolved,  unhazarded  it  lies, 
Forsaken  evermore. 

For  on  those  sands  immaculate  and  lone 

Perchance  They  list  the  sea's  unmeasured  lyre, 
When  sunset  casts  an  evanescent  fire 
Thro  billows  thunder-sown. 


57 


BENEATH  THE  REDWOODS 

O  trees!  so  vast,  so  calm! 

Softly  ye  lay 

On  heart  and  mind  today 
The  unpurchaseable  balm. 

Ere  yet  the  wind  can  cease, 

Your  mighty  sigh 
Is  spirit  of  the  sky — 
Half  sorrow  and  half  peace. 

Mourn  ye  your  brothers  slain, 

That  now  afar 
From  hush  and  dews  and  star 
Man  barters  for  his  gain*? 

58 


BENEATH  <fHE  REDWOODS 

Mourn  them  with  all  your  boughs, 

For  I  must  mourn, 
In  seasons  yet  unborn, 
The  cares  that  they  will  house. 


MUSIC  AT  DUSK 

O  Twilight,  Twilight!  evermore  to  hear 
The  wounded  viols  pleading  to  thy  heart! 
To  dream  we  watch  thy  purple  wings  depart; 

To  wake,  and  know  thy  presence  alway  near! 

What  dost  thou  on  the  pathway  of  the  sun? 
Abide  thy  sister  Night,  while  strains  so  pure 
Make  heaven  and  all  its  beauty  seem  too  sure, 

And  all  too  certain  her  oblivion. 

One  star  awakes  to  turn  thee  from  the  south. 
Oh,  linger  in  the  shadows  thou  hast  drawn, 
Ere  Night  cast  dew  before  the  feet  of  Dawn, 

Or  Silence  lay  her  kiss  on  Music's  mouth! 


60 


THE  TIDES  OF  CHANGE 

Wherewith  is  Beauty  fashioned*?     Canst  thou  deem 
Her  evanescent  roses  bourgeon  save 
Within  the  sunlight  tender  on  her  grave*? 

Awake  no  winds  but  bear  her  dust,  a  gleam 

In  morning's  prophecy  or  sunset's  dream; 
And  every  cry  that  ever  Sirens  gave 
From  islands  mournful  with  the  quiring  wave 

Was  echo  of  a  music  once  supreme. 

All  seons,  conquests,  excellencies,  stars, 
All  pain  and  peril  of  seraphic  wars, 
Were  met  to  shape  thy  soul's  divinity. 

Pause,  for  the  breath  of  gods  is  on  thy  face! 
The  ghost  of  dawns  forgotten  and  to  be 
Abides  a  moment  in  the  twilight's  grace. 

61 


MORNING  TWILIGHT 

An  early  thrush  acclaims  the  light — 
The  wide,  low-billowing  day 

O'er  dews  and  grasses  chill  with  night 
Upcasts  its  foam  of  grey. 

Now  end  the  darkness  and  its  dreams. 

The  ashen  moon  is  low; 
Like  petal-drift  on  placid  streams 

We  watch  her  sink  and  go. 

And  like  a  dryad  to  her  tree 
The  morning  star  hath  sped — 

Gone  ere  an  eye  essayed  to  see 
The  path  whereon  she  fled. 

62 


MORNING 


Hark  how,  as  here  we  stand  the  wards 
Of  woodlands  newly  green, 

The  pine's  innumerable  chords 
Are  touched  by  hands  unseen! 

Hearing,  the  forest  seems  forlorn 

And  all  the  air  a  sigh 
Of  things  that  seek  a  vaster  morn, 

And  find  it  not,  and  die. 

O  tranquil  hour!  the  haggard  noon 

Shall  make  a  ghost  of  thee 
Soon  to  be  memory's,  and  soon 

Not  even  of  memory. 


AN  ALTAR  OF  THE  WEST 

(Point  Lobos,  the  southern  boundary  of  Carmel 
Bay.) 

Beauty,  what  dost  thou  here? 
Why  hauntest  thou  this  empery  of  pain 
Where  men  in  vain 

Long  for  another  sphere? 

Art  not  an  exile  shy, 

A  dreamer  'mid  the  swords, 
Upon  this  iron  world  where  men  defy 

Time  and  its  hidden  lords? 
Thou  waitest  with  a  splendor  on  thy  brow. 
And  seem'st  to  watch  with  compensating  eyes 
Each  jest  our  dwarfing  Fates  devise; 

And  after  all  the  strife, 


AN  AUfAR  OF  <fHE  WES? 

Tis  thou 

Who  standest  where  the  slayers'  feet  have  trod— 
Perchance  a  portion  of  this  dream  of  God 
That  will  not  go  from  life. 

All   that  man's  yearning  finds  beyond  its  reach 
Thou  hast  in  promise,  giving  to  his  heart 
A  rapturous  sadness  all  too  wild  for  speech, — 
A  glory  past  the  thresholds  of  his  art, 
Tho  Nature  tell  it  with  the  wind 

And  beckon  him  to  find. 
Thou  dost  reward  our  barren  years: 

Our  very  tears — 
The  dews  of  memory — 
Were  lovely  as  the  dew,  could  Grief  but  see. 

What  marvel  fills 

Thine  evenings,  dawns  and  noons! — 
The  dryad-haunted  hills 
And  gold  of  reeds  that  wait  the  lips  of  Pan; 


AN  ALFfAR  OF  <?HE  WES<f 

Silence  and  silver  one  in  wasting  moons; 

The  stains 

Of  mornings  beautiful  ere  Time  began, 
And  wine-souled  Autumn  and  the  ghostly  rains; 

A  bird 
In  moonlit  valleys  of  enchantment  heard; 

The  fall  of  sunsets  past  the  sea, 
And  shadow  of  celestial  pearls  to  be 

Where  meet  in  day 
The  night's  last  star,  the  morning's  youngest  ray. 

On  thine  incarnate  face  could  we  but  look, 

Would  not  we  die, 
Desiring  overmuch*? 

And  yet  we  sigh, 

Who  find  on  land  and  sea  thy  radiant  touch 
And  dream  thou  hast  on  earth  a  secret  nook — 

A  glade  supremely  blest 
In  woodlands  where  thou  wanderest  unseen. 


66 


AN  AUfAR  OF  <THE  WES<f 

Hath  not  the  snowy  North 
Or  star-concealing  ocean  of  the  West 
A  court  wherein  thou  sittest  queen, 
A  temple  whence  thou  goest  forth, 
An  altar  for  our  quest? 
Goddess,  one  such  I  know, 
And  fain  would  praise, 
Tho  less  the  gift  my  words  bestow 

Than  tapers  'mid  the  blaze 
Of  peaceless  stars  that  gather  at  thy  throne. 
Yet  seems  it  most  thine  own. 

Past  Carmel  lies  a  headland  that  the  deep — 

A  Titan  at  his  toil  — 

Has  graven  with  the  measured  surge  and  sweep 
Of  waves  that  broke  ten  thousand  years  ago. 
Here  winds  assoil 

That  blow 
From  unfamiliar  skies 


AN  ALFfAR  OF  ^fHE  WES<? 

And  isolating  waters  of  the  West. 
Deep-channelled  by  the  billows'   rage  it  lies, 

As  tho  the  land 

Thrust  forth  a  vast,  tree-shaggy  hand 
To  bar  the  furious  ocean  from  its  breast. 
Here  Beauty  would  I  seek, 
For  this  I  deem  her  home, 

And  surely  here 
The  sea-adoring  Greek, 
Poseidon,  unto  thee 

Thy  loftiest  temple  had  been  swift  to  rear, 
Of  chosen  marble  and  chalcedony, 
Pure  as  the  irrecoverable  foam. 

Ere  evening  from  this  granite  bulwark  gaze, 
Above  the  deeper  sapphire  that  the  winds 
Drag  to  and  fro. 

A  zone 
Of  coldest  chrysoprase 

68 


AN  AUfAR  OF  <fHE  WES? 

Tells  where  the  sunlight  finds 
The  glimmering  shoal. 

How  slow 

Yon  clouds,   like  giants  overthrown 
Sink  to   the   ocean's   western  verge, 
From  whence  incessant  roll 
Thro  unresponding  years 
The  waves  whose  anthem  challenges  the  soul — 

The  everlasting  surge 
Whose  ancient  salt  is  in  our  blood  and  tears. 

Listen,   with  sight  made  blind, 
And  dream  thou  nearest  on  the  according  wind 
The  music  of  the  gods  again, 

The  murmur  of  their  slain 
And  firmamenta!  echo  of  great  wars. 
See  how  the  wave  in  sudden  anger  flings 
White  arms  about  a  rock  to  drag  it  down! 

No  siren  sings, 
But  in  that  pool  of  crystal  gleams  her  crown, 

69 


AN  AUfAR  OF  <fHE  WES'? 

Flung  on  a  rocky  shelf — 
Grey  jewels  cold  and  agates  of  the  elf 
That  in  yon  scarlet  cavern  still  is  hid, 

'Mid  shells  that  mock  the  dawn. 
Here,  where  the  northern  surge  is  swayed 
Upon  a  beach  of  amber  where  a  faun 
Might  clasp  the  beauty  of  a  Nereid, 
Translucent  waters  cover  loops  of  jade. 

Beyond,  the  sea-scourged  walls  uphold 
A  mount  of  granite,  steep  and  harsh,  where  cling 

Along  its  rugged  length 
The  cypress  legions,  melancholy,  old. 
O'er  wasting  cliff  and  strand 
In  terraced  emerald  they  stand 

Against  the  sky, 
Each  elder  tree  a  king 
Whose  fame  the  wordless  billows  magnify. 
A  thousand  winters  of  achieving  storm 
Moulded  each  mighty  form 


70 


AN  AUfAR  OF  fHE  WES<f 

To  beauty  and  to  strength: 
A  thousand  more  shall  raven  ere  they  die. 

But  wander  to  the  verge  again 
Where  the  immeasurable  main 
Below  the  red  horizon  rears  its  wall, 

The  day's  enormous  pyre 
Whence  oft,  in  mighty  sunsets  of  the  West, 
The  world  seems  menaced  by  invading  fire. 

Dost  hear  no  call 
From  these  hesperian  Islands  of  the  Blest 

That  wait  the  quest 

Of  galleys  of  adventure,  launched  at  dawn 
And  seaward  on  the  tides  of  peril  drawn? 
The  sky-line's  crimson  harbors  seem  to  hold, 

At  dusk,  their  prows  of  gold. 
Now,  ere  the  stars  come  out  along  the  wind, 
The  veering   sea-birds   find 
The  refuge  that  they  crave 


AN  ALFfAR  OF  <fHE  WES? 

On  cliffs  above  the  weedy  mouth 

Of  some  reverberant  cave 
In  which  the  ocean's  monstrous  chuckle  wakes. 

Fast  comes  the  night; 
The  west  witholds  at  last 
Those  last  red  relics  of  departing  light 

That  once  were  noon. 
Hark  how  the  billow  breaks, 

Forever  cast 

On  reefs  round  which  wild  waters  and  the  moon 
Weave  silver  garlands  —  foamy  fillets  strewn 
Along  her  shining  pathway  to  the  South! 

The  stars  arise, 
And  westward  now  the  Eagle  holds  their  van. 

See  how  the  Pleiades, 
Like  hounds  in  leash  before  Aldebaran, 
Strain  up  the  shifting  skies! 

The  cypress  trees, 
Drenched  in  the  milk  o'  the  moon,  conspirant  seem, 


AN  AL^AR  OF  <fHE  WES? 

The  surf  a  chant  of  giants  heard  afar, 

While  seaward  gleam 
The  lamps  of  Lyra  and  the  evening  star.  .  .  . 

The  midnight  hushes  all; 
The  winds  are  dumb; 
Eastward,  Orion  treads  the  mountain- wall. 
But  lo!  what  visitant  is  on  the  gloom4? 
Beauty  and  mystery  and  terror  meet 

At  this  her  chosen  seat: 

The  writhing  fog  is  come, 

White  as  the  moon's  cold  hands 

Laid  on  a  marble  tomb. 

Slow  swarm  the  dragon-bands — 
Those  pallid  monsters  of  the  mist  that  nose 
The  granite  bare 

And  glide  along  the  flanks 
Of  hill  and  headland  where  the  cypress  ranks 

Are  crouched  like  silent  foes, 


73 


AN  AU£AR  OF  <?HE  WES? 

Relentless  and  aware. 
Far  to  the  sombre  hills  they  roam 

Like  winds  that  have  no  home, 
And  creep, 

Unhasting  and  intent, 

Along  the  muffled  deep, 

As  tho  malignly  sent 

From  Lethe's  murmur  and  the  starless  foam. 
They  pass,  and  now  again  the  moon  is  free, 
Slow  pacing  with  the  Signs  about  her  head; 
Soon  shall  the  dawn  arise  and  find  her  fled 

From  yon  blue  battlement, 
As  tho  a  pearl  were  hidden  by  the  sea. 


Beauty,  what  dost  thou  here? 
Why  hauntest  thou  the  House  where  Death  is  lord 
And  o'er  thy  crown  appear 


74 


AN  AUfAR  OF  <fHE  WES? 

The  inexorable  shadow  and  the  sword? 
Art  not  a  mad  mirage  above  a  grave? 
The  foam  foredriven  of  a  perished  wave? 

A  clarion  afar? 

A  lily  on  the  waters  of  despond? 
A  ray  that  leaping  from  our  whitest  star 

Shows  but  the  night  beyond? 
And  yet  thou  seemest  more  than  all  the  rest 

That  eye  and  ear  attest — 
A  watch-tower  on  the  mountains  whence  we  see 
On  future  skies 

The  rose  of  dawn  to  be; 
The  altar  of  an  undiscovered  shore; 
A  dim  assurance  and  a  proud  surmise; 
A  gleam 

Upon  the  bubble,  Time; 

The  vision,  fleet,  sublime, 

Of  sorrowed  man,  the  brute  that  dared  to  dream. 
Ah!  those,  and  more! 


75 


AN  AUfAR  OF  <fHE  WES<f 

Made  veritable  tho  the  heart  descry 
No  path  to  thy  demesne 
And  Music  builds,   unseen, 

Her  Heaven  we  shall  not  enter  tho  we  die. 

Still  must  thou  speak, 
August  and  consecrate, 

Of  that  Reality  we  can  but  seek, 
Tho  seeking  fail — 

That  Sun  eternal  and  inviolate, 

Whereof  thou  art  the  portent  and  the  veil. 


THE  FAUN 

Now  in  the  noontide  peace  I  lie 

Where   waving  grass  is  green, 
With  bosom  open  to  the  sky 

And  not  a  cloud  between; 
At  dawn,  one  cast  from  out  the  blue 

A  shadow  on  my  lanes, 
Then  vanished  with  the  dwindling  dew 

And  not  a  wisp  remains. 

An  hour  ago  I  watched  an  ant 

Haste  homeward  with  her  spoil; 
She  had,  by  Jove  his  covenant, 

No  quittance  of  her  toil; 
Doubtless  they  be  a  thrifty  race, 

Whose  works  shall   not  depart: 
O  Jove,  who  grantest  each  his  place, 

Teach  not  to  me  their  art! 


77 


<fHE  FAUN 

I  and  my  kin  shall  pass  ere  long, 

And  ants  shall  ever  be; 
But  better  now  the  linnet's  song 

Than  their  eternity. 
What  tho  my  people  perish  soon? 

Awhile  the  dews  we  crush 
Where  nights  of  summer  mould  the  moon 

And  laughters  wake  the  thrush. 

From  yonder  hill  I  spy  on  man 

And  marvel  at  his  need, 
Who  fashions,  in  a  season's  span, 

A  thousand  fanes  to  Greed; 
Perchance  from  each,  his  worship  done, 

He  ventures  forth  repaid, 
But  grant  thou  me  the  spendthrift  sun 

And  berries  of  the  glade. 


<fHE  FAUN 

At  noon  great  Caesar's  chariot  past, 

A  poison  on  the  air, 
But  drive  he  slow  or  drive  he  fast, 

The  journey's  end  is  Care — 
Care,  at  whose  throne  all  mortals  stand 

With  tinsel  crowns  put  by, 
Too  weak  to  rove  the  billowed  land, 

Too  sad  to  watch  the  sky. 

Mid  ivied  trunks  I  see  her  gleam, 

The  nymph,  my  forest-mate; 
She  wanders  by  the  lyric  stream, 

To  us  articulate. 
A  golden  house  let  Caesar  build, 

To  hold  his  ghosts  and  gods — 
For  me  the  summer  eves  are  stilled, 

For  me  the  flower  nods. 


79 


THE  VOICES 

Last  night  the  granite  headland  loomed 

A  Titan  on  the  night, 
About  whose  knees  the  billows  boomed, 

Enormous,  baffled,   white. 

And  now  to  morning's  throne  of  gold 
Murmurs   the  chastened  sea: 

Its  thunder  and  its  whispers  hold 
The  selfsame  mystery. 


80 


A  CHARACTER 

Blunt  as  a  child,  since  child  he  was  at  heart, 
And  sun-sincere,  my  friend  to  many  seemed 
Dull,  rude,  aggressive,  tactless.      Add  to  all 
His  bulk  and  hairiness  and  stormy  laugh, 
And  one  can  find  them  some  excuse  for  that. 
'Twas  seeming  only.      We,  who  found  his  soul 
Thro  friendship's  crystal,  saw  beyond  the  glass 
The  elusive  seraph.      In  his  mind  were  met 
The  faun,   the  cynic,   the  philosopher, 
But  first  of  all,  the  poet.      Give  to  such 
Apollo's  guise,   and  matters  were  not  well. 
Too  glad  to  pose,  ofttimes  he  held  his  peace 
Before  the  jest  that  sought  his  heart;  but  let 
The  whim  appeal,  and  all  his  mind  took  fire — 
I   The  shifted   diamond's   instant   shock  of  light. 

81 


A  CHARACTER 

Beauty  to  him   (as  wine's  ecstatic  draught, 
Richer  than  blood,  and  every  drop  a  dream) 
Was  like  a  wind  some  hidden  world  put  forth 
To  baffle,   madden,   lure  —  at  times,   betray, 
Then  win  him  back  to  worship  with  a  breath 
Of  Edens  never  trodden.      Yet  he  stood 
No  dupe  to  Nature  in  her  harlotry, 
Her  guile,  her  blind  injustice  and  the  abrupt 
Ferocities  of  chance,  but  swift  to  face 
The  unkempt  fact,  and  swift  no  less  to  snatch 
Its  honey  from  illusion's  stinging  hive — 
No  moth  that  beat  upon  Time's  enginery. 
Yet  loved  he  Nature  well,  as  one  might  love 
A  half-tamed  leopardess,   for  beauty's  grace 
Alone.      Within  his  enigmatic  soul 
Sorrow  and  Art  made  Love  their  servitor, 
For  he  would  have  no  master  but  himself. 
To  what  best  liken  him*?      Some  singer  must 
Have  used  the  star-souled  geode's  rind  and  heart, 


82 


A  CHARACTER 

Telling  of  such  as  he.      Let  me  compare 
His  rugged  aspect  and  auroral  mind 
To  that  wide  shell  our  western  ocean  grants — 
Without,   all  harsh  and  hueless,  with,  perhaps, 
A  group  of  barnacles  or  tattered  weed; 
Within,  such  splendor  as  would  make  one  guess 
That  once  a  score  of  dawnings  and  a  troop 
Of  royal  sunsets  had  condensed  their  pomp 
To  rainbow  lacquer  which  the  ocean  pow'rs 
Had  lavished,   godlike,   on  the  gorgeous  bowl. 


THE  GUERDON  OF  THE  SUN 

Of  all  the  fonts  from  which  man's  heart  has  drawn 
Some  essence  of  the  majesty  of  earth, 
Some  intimation  of  the  human  worth, 

I  reckon  first  the  sunset  and  the  dawn. 

For  those  were  fires  whose  splendor  smote  his  clay 
With  witness  of  a  light  beyond  the  clod; 
Enshrined,  he  made  of  radiance  a  god, 

And  found  his  benediction  in  the  day. 

And  all  his  eager  hands  have  found  to  do, 
And  all  his  tireless  hope  and  love  unite, 
In  some  wise  take  their  symbol  from  the  light, 

Our  very  Heaven  based  on  heaven's  blue. 

84 


<fHE  GUERDON    OF  fHE  SUN 

Tilth  beyond  tilth,  he  waits  upon  the  sun, 
The  first  to  goad,  the  last  to  calm  his  breast, 
With  dawns  that  like  a  clarion  break  his  rest, 

And  after-glows  that  crown  his  labor  done. 


THE  GARDENS  OF  THE  SEA 

Beneath  the  ocean's  sapphire  lid 

We  gazed  far  down,  and  who  had  dreamed, 
Till  pure  and  cold  its  treasures  gleamed, 

What  lucent  jewels  there  lay  hid  9 — 

Opal  and  jacinth,  orb  and  shell, 

Calice  and  filament  of  jade, 

And  fonts  of  malachite  inlaid 
With  lotus  and  with  asphodel, — 

Red  sparks  that  give  the  dolphin  pause, 
Lamps  of  the  ocean-elf,  and  gems 
Long  lost  from  crystal  diadems, 

And  veiled  in  shrouds  of  glowing  gauze. 


86 


<fHE  GARDENS  OF  <fHE  SEA 

Below,  the  sifted  sunlight  passed 
To  twilight,  where  the  azure  blaze 
Of  scentless  flowers  from  the  haze 

About  their  dim  pavilions  cast 

Betrayed  what  seemed  forgotten  pearls, 
As  shimmering  weeds  alert  with  light 
Enticed  the  half -reluctant  sight 

To  caverns  where  the  sea-kelp  swirls. 

Splendid  and  chill  those  gardens  shone, 

Where  sound  is  not,  and  tides  are  winds,— 
Where,  fugitive,  the  naiad  finds 

Eternal  autumn,  hushed  and  lone; 

Till  one  had  said  that  in  her  bow'rs 
Were  mixt  the  nacres  of  the  dawn, 
That  thence  the  sunset's  dyes  were  drawn, 

And  there  the  rainbow  sank  its  tow'rs. 


<fHE  GARDENS  OF  <?HE  SEA 

Where  gorgeous  flowers  of  chrysoprase 
In  songless  meadows  bared   their  blooms, 
The  deep's   unweariable   looms 

With  shifting  splendors  lured  the  gaze. 

And  zoned  on  iridescent  sands, 
Pellucid  glories  came  and  went — 
Silver  and  scarlet  madly  blent 

In  living  stars  and  blazoned  bands. 

Hydras  of  emerald  and  blue 
Were  part  of  swaying  tapestries 
Whose  woof  from  ivies  of  the  seas 

Stole  each  inquietude  of  hue. 

And  in  those  royal  halls  lay  lost 
The  oriflammes  and  golden  oars 
Of  argosies  from  lyric  shores — 

'Mid  glimmering  crowns  and  croziers  tost. 


<fHE  GARDENS  OF  <fHE  SEA 

And  purple  poppies  vespertine 

Glowed  on  the  weird  and  sunken  ledge, 
Beyond  whose  rich,  vermillion  edge 

Rose   tentacles   from  shapes  unseen — 

Undulant  bronze  and  glossy  toils 
That  shuddered  in  the  lustrous  tide 
And  forms  in  restless  crimson  dyed 

That  caught  the  light  in  stealthy  coils  .    .    . 

Far  down  we  gazed,  nor  dared  to  dream 
What  final  sorceries  would  be 
When  in  those  gardens  of  the  sea 

The  lilies  of  the  moon  should  gleam. 


THE  SIBYL  OF  DREAMS 

The  rose  she  gathers  is  invisible, 

But  ah!  its  fragrance  on  the  visioned  air — 
The  scent  of  Paphian  flowers  warm  and  fair; 

The  breath  of  blossoms  delicate  and  chill, 

By  Dian  tended  on  her  vestal  hill, 

And  soul  of  that  wan  orchid  of  despair 
Found  by  Persephone,   when,   unaware, 

She  bent  to  pluck,  and  hell  and  heaven  grew  still. 

Oh!  in  what  lily's  deep  and  splendid  cup 
Shall  ever  evening  dryads  hope  to  find 
So  marvellous  a  nectar  of  delight — 
In  valleys  of  enchantment  gathered  up 
By  hesitating  spirits  of  the  wind, 

And  borne  in  rapture  to  the  lips  of  Night4? 


90 


THE  MUSIC  OF  SLEEP 

What  crown  of  dews  and  opals  Morning  wore 
I  knew  not,  taken  in  the  toils  of  Sleep; 
For  mine  it  was  the  ways  profound  to  keep 

Where  seas  of  dream  break  on  a  phantom  shore 

To  mysteries  of  music  evermore. 

There  shone  no  star  on  headland  nor  on  steep, 
And  past  the  vague  horizon  of  that  deep 

On  isles  unknown  I  heard  its  billows  roar. 

Eastward  the  everlasting  fountains  welled 
Till  o'er  my  rest  the  dayspring's  golden  tide 

On  hills  that  are  and  nearer  seas  was  whirled; 
But  sealed  within  my  haunted  brows  I  held 
The  forms  that  pass,  the  shadows  that  abide, 
And  music  of  the  soul's  dim  under-world. 


DUTY 

White  on  its  road  we  saw  her  chariot  shine, 
And  she,  unturning,  passed  with  lifted  gaze, 
As  Pleasure  stood  in  arrogant  amaze 

And  looked  in  question  on  his  scorned  wine; 

Love  from  her  steeds  leapt  back  with  frightened 

eyne, 

Indignant,  splendid,   and  the  hostile  blaze 
Of  Pain's  effulgence  from  his  hidden  ways 

Seemed  but  her  beacon  to  a  goal  divine. 

Then  fell  intensest  shadow  on  her  path, 

Whereat  one  cried,  "Behold !  the  sword  of  Death ! 
Shall  mortal   face  unfaltering  the  Wrath  ?" 

And  silence  held  our  multitude.      But  she 
Passed  on  as  to  a  thing  of  spectral  breath, — 
A  fantasy  that  was  not  nor  could  be. 


92 


THE  ECHO  AND  THE  QUEST 

Now,  as  the  west  is  red,  O  birds! 

My  clumsy  arts  you  bring  to  naught: 
A  victim  of  the  curse  of  thought, 

I  tell  its  pain  in   trammeling  words — 

Your  music  mocks  the  bitter  lay! 
Idle  as  any  song  of  mine 
The  melody  from  copse  or  pine — 

Born  at  the  dying  of  the  day; 

But  oh!   the  full   accomplishment! 

Reproach   unplanned  but  exquisite! 

Hark  how  the  unpurchased  throats  transmit 
The  tidings  of  a  world  content! 


93 


<fHE  ECHO  AND  <fHE  QUES<f 

To  you  the  tale  is  all  of  joy, 

But  we  from  rapture  ask  its  pang; 
And  tho'   an  angel  came  and  sang, 

Our  hearts  would  worship — and  destroy. 

And  tho  for  ecstasy  you  sing, 
Our  dim  dissent  awaits  your  tale, 
And  in  the  song  there  seems  to  wail 

Another  message  than  you  bring: 

Unmastered  still  by  disbelief, 

You  tell  our  doubts  in  twilight  strain; 

Untouched  by  man's  perennial  pain, 
You  give  some  echo  of  his  grief; 

Or  so  we  dream.    The  very  wind 
Serves  at  the  soul's  aeolian  chords; 
Rulers  dismayed,  uncertain  lords, 

In  all  we  find,  ourselves  we  find. 


94 


<fHE  ECHO  AND  <fHE  QUES? 

But  you  escape  the  nets  of  care. 
Whither  at  last  my  feet  shall  go 
I  know  not:  from  your  song  I  know 

You  find  the  truth,  and  find  it  fair. 


95 


JUSTICE 

Nila  the  youth,   first-born,   whose  father's  name 
Was  honored  in  his  market-place  of  Ind, 
Loved  Unda,  and  the  dreaming  twain,  betrothed, 
Waited  the  springtide  and  their  marriage-rites. 
The  springtide  came,   but  Nila's   joy  came  not, 
For  she,  the  girl  that  was  to  be  his  bride, 
Was  ravished  from  her  lover,   kin   and  home — 
Prey  to  the  bull-necked  Rajah  on  the  hill. 
Then  Nila,  heedless  of  his  father's  hope, 
Vanished.      Anon  before  the  palace  gate 
That  looked  across  the  palm-tops  to  the  south, 
And  whence  the  road  ran  eastward  to  the  town, 
There  sat  one  cowled,  a  grey  and  mournful  shape, 
Who  spoke  not,  and  was  deemed,  for  silence,  saint, — 
Who  lived  upon  the  offerings  of  the  poor, 


JUSTICE 

And  gave  no  sign,  nor  vision  of  his  face, 
To  slave  nor  councillor.      "For,"  said  the  youth, 
"It  well  may  be  that  on  some  day  she  fare 
Forth  to  the  temple,  or  to  other  ends: 
And  I,  shall  I  not  know  her  as  she  goes, 
Tho'  jewelled  curtains  hide  the  loyal  face*? 
Aye!  but  to  be  as  near  to  her  as  now 
And  do  her  service  once  in  all  my  days 
Were  better  than  despair.      Yet  if  men  find 
That  I  am  Nila,  they  may  well  discern 
Wherefore  I  wait,  and  so  the  Rajah  know, 
Or,  at  the  least,  my  kindred  draw  me  hence." 

He  waiting,   season  after  season  came 
With  weal  and  woe  unto  the  sons  of  men — 
The  time  of  sowing  and  the  time  to  reap, 
Summer,  and  crashing  of  the  winter  rain, 
And  plague  and  famine,  gods  that  slew  unseen. 
He  heard  the  stars  plot  evil  unto  man, 


97 


JUSTICE 

And  saw  the  baleful  meteor  float  to  light 
And  many  suns  look  down  upon  man's  pain. 
The  days  had  each  their  will  of  him.      The  years 
Wrought  as  with  cunning  chisels.      Gaunt  he  grew, 
A  silent  watcher  by  the  carven  gate, 
And  saw  his  kind  go  in  and  forth  again, 
But  never  one  whose  coming,  with  a  thrill, 
Sang  to  his  heart:     "Lo!  I  am  even  she!" 
Hooded,  unknown,  so  sat  he  'mid  the  crows — 
Sear  as  the  summer,  grey  as  any  rain — 
And  watched  the  flowers'  birth  and  death,   and 

heard 

The  sparrows'   song  of  mating,  or  the  din 
Where  the  shrill  apes  held  council  in  the  grove. 
Often,  in  dreams  that  broke  his  daytime's  dream, 
He  somehow,  somewhere,  found  the  long-betrothed, 
Far- wandered   too   in  sleep's  Elysium, 
And  clasped  her  form,  and  kissed  her  deathless  lips, 
Hushed,   in  some  garden  of  eternal  dews; 


JUSTICE 

Then  woke  to  silence  and  the  dark,  save  where 
In  one  lean  tower  gleamed  a  shrouded  lamp, 
Like  some  red  planet  still  among  the  stars, 
Or,  hung  above  the  temple  to  the  south, 
The  failing  Ian  thorn  of  the  moon    .  .  .    Far  off 
A  jackal  barked  ...  A  whisper  touched  the  wind. 

So  for  two  score  of  years  his  vigil  ran, 
Unbroken  save  for  slumber,  till  his  hope, 
More  faint  at  last,   for  all   his  hungering, 
Than  shadows  cast  by  firstling  moons,   was  fled. 
But  in  the  dust  and  detriments  of  noon, 
And  in  the  midnight,  still  he  longed  for  her, 
As,  day  by  day,   the  marring  seasons  passed, 
Heedless  of  his  despair.      And  yet  he  dreamt, 
Sustained  by  that  which  man  must  find  at  last — 
Patience,  his  answer  to  the  sneer  of  Hell. 
Often  he  whispered  prayer,  and,  in  his  age, 
Spoke  unto  children  and  to  ancient  men, 


99 


JUSTICE 

But  craved  no  word  of  her  he  loved,  in  dread 
Lest  he  be  told  her  death.      Then  broke  a  day 
Whereon  a  hush  seemed  come  to  mortal  things. 
A  scarlet  flower  opened,  near  at  hand, 
Scentless.      Far  up,  he  saw  a  lonely  cloud, 
Cold-purple,  like  a  bruise  upon  the  sky. 
A  restless  wind  plucked  at  the  parent  dust, 
And  all  the  apes  were  silent  in  the  grove. 
And  Nila  knew  his  end  was  near,  anc}  felt 
His  soul  rise  wearily  and  welcome  Death. 
Then  one  came  forth  from  out  the  palace  gate — 
Broken  and  desolate  with  foul-eyed  age, 
And  sat  near  by,  nor  held  at  all  her  peace, 
Lamenting  o'er  some  matter  of  a  hen. 
Whereat  said  Nila:     "Woman,  hast  thou  word 
Of  one  whom,  long  ago,  the  Rajah  tore 
From  lover  and  from  kin — of  her  whose  name 
Was  llnda*?"      Then  the  crone  bent  low  her  head 
And  pondered,   reaching  back  to  years  agone, 


100 


JUSTICE 

As  one  that  in  the  darkness  of  the  sea 
Gropes  for  a  sunken  gem.      At  last  she  spoke, 
Saying,    "So  long!    So    long  ago!    And  yet 
Do  I  remember  Unda,  for  alone 
Of  all  her  band  she  mourned,  nor  would  be  still; 
Wherefore  our  lord  at  last  was  wroth  with  her 
And  put  her  forth,  for  that  she  ever  wept, 
By  the  northern  gate,  forbidding  that  she  turn 
Again  unto  her  kindred.      And  some  say 
That  she   within   the  jungle  perished,   some 
That  to  a  city  of  the  west  she  fared 
And  dwelt  in  shame.     Doubtless  she  long  is  dead." 
And  Nil  a  gazed  upon  the  land  and  sky, 
Woven  for  man's  illusion,   and  beheld 
The  scarlet  petals  fallen  from  their  stem. 
The  cloud  had  gone;  the  wind  was  fled  away. 
And  Nila  turned  him  from  the  veils  of  Time, 
And  bowed  his  head,  and  murmured:      "God  is 
just." 


101 


THE  FLEET 

Stand  fast!      Though  steel  on  clanging  steel 

Make  the  contending  turret  reel; 

Though  stern  as  Hell  the  battle-blast, 
From  merciless  horizons  cast — 

Annihilation's  breath — 

Thunder  no  word  but  "Death!" 
Yea!  though  the  blind  sea  rave 
And  all  its  gulfs  gape  eager  as  the  grave, 

Sure  of  your  flesh  at  last, 

O  human  hearts!  stand  fast! 

And  though  untested  nerve  and  sinew  shrink, 
Trapped  and  astounded  at  the  final  brink — 

Tho'  hostile  guns  the  march  to  silence  toll, 

Beyond  it  lies  the  goal, 

And  past  the  moment's  tremor  smiles  the  soul. 


102 


<fHE  FLEE? 

O  brother  hearts  and  brave, 
We  know  you  strong  to  save, 

And  strong  to  serve  the  Star 

That  past  the  dusk  of  war 
Imperishable  gleams. 
And  O!  how  little  seems 

The  price  of  death  men  wait  so  glad  to  pay 

To  hold  undesecrated  every  ray! 
To  serve  thro'  many  nights 
The  youngest  of  the  Lights 

Until  it  burns  sublime 
From   uncontested  heights — 

The  whitest  beacon  on  the  coasts  of  Time! 

Behold  her,  our  dear  country,  where  she  stands 

Beneath  the  unconquered  skies, 
The  sword  and  trumpet  in  her  sheathed  hands, 

But  mercy  in  her  eyes! 
Behold  before  her  gates 


103 


<fHE  FLEE? 

That  bar  the  loyal  sea, 

Foaming  upon  her  threshholds  ceaselessly, 
Each  messenger  that  waits 
Armed  for  conclusive  fates — 

Angels  of  death  made  mighty  to  fulfil 

'Mid  thunderings  her  will! 

Behold  all  these  and  know  her  wisdom's  length, 
Her  beauty  and  her  strength, 

And  know  that  farther  skies 

Age-hence  shall  see  her  rise, 
Hesperus  of  the  high  and  starry  plan 

When  nations  sit  unarmored  at  the  feast, 

Of  freedom,  West  and  East, 
Leagued  in  the  deathless  faith  of  men  with  Man, 


104 


REMORSE 


At  the  sea's  verge,  near  Cypress  Point,  in  Monterey  County, 
the  rain,  wind,  sun  and  sea  have  shaped  a  crag  of  the  Santa 
Lucian  granite  into  the  form  of  a  cowled  or  crowned  figure, 
bent  above  the  surf. 


Prelate  or  king  (the  twilight  tells  not  which), 
Thou  crouchest,   silent,  by  the  bitter  sea. 
Immovable,   immortal   and   alone, 
Abidest  thou,  and  in  thy  stony  ears 
The  changeless  moaning  of  the  ancient  deep 
Is  less  than  prayer  to  Fate.      The  flaming  noon 
Warms,  and  the  spectral  mists  of  evening  chill: 
Thou  heedest  not,  lapt  in  granitic  dreams, 
Nor  hast  a  glance  for  setting  moon  or  star. 
What  was  thy  crime  ?      How  long  thy  bleak 

remorse? 

For  never  venial  sin  had  strength  to  bind 
In  trance  so  grim  despair  so  terrible. 


105 


REMORSE 

Gaze!  but  the  stainless  wave  shall  not  assoil! 
Listen!  but  ever  in  thy  soul  must  ring 
The  ghostly  death-cry  of  a  Cause  betrayed, — 
An  empire  lost,  a  people  cast  to  doom! 
So  might  the  Spirit  of  our  tragic  orb 
Behold,  |  aghast  with  years,  \  its  fell  result, 
And,  blinded  with  the  vision  he  had  wrought, 
And  dumb  with  clamors  frozen  at  his  heart, 
Ponder,  unpitied  by  Eternity, 
Above  the  rising  sea  of  human  tears. 


106 


MOONLIGHT  IN  THE  PINES 

Full-starred,  seraphic  Night  arose, 

Lifting  the  Pleiades'  dim  lyre 
Above  that  solitude  where  glows 
Rose-red  Aldebaran's  fire. 

Mute,  ere  the  darkness  could  forget 

The  crystal  hour  of  evening's  trance, 
I  felt  the  little  winds  that  set 

The  mirrored  stars  a-dance. 

On  restless  leaves  I  heard  them  pass 
To  touch  the  yellow  vines  that  lay 
Like  paler  pythons  in  the  grass, 
Beside  a  lonely  way. 


107 


MOONLIGHT:  IN  <?HE  PINES 

To  forest  glades  at  last  it  led, 

By  Silence  chosen  as  her  own: 
The  pines'  soft  sighing  overhead 

Seemed  but  her  whispers  flown. 

Scarcely  it  seemed  to  cross  the  bound 
Where  she,   aloof,   stood  sorceress — 
That  twilight  where  the  feet  of  sound 
Pass  unto  nothingness. 

A  little  weary  of  the  speech 

Of  burdened  man  and  troubled  sea, 
I  stood  and  dreamed  that  time  would  teach 
Her  dream  of  peace  to  me, 

And,  awed  by  the  communing  night, 

Forgot  the  haggard  world  withdrawn, 
Ere  on  my  face  there  fell  a  light 
As  of  a  spectral  dawn. 


108 


MOONLIGHT  IN  <fHE  PINES 

It  gleamed  beyond  the  barring  pine — 
That  shattered  silver  of  the  moon — 
The  midnight's  asphodels  divine 

On  field  and  woodland  strewn. 

Among  the  lesser  trees  it  lay 

Like  veiled  and  pallid  ghosts  that  slept, 
About  whose  forms,  as  in  dismay, 
The  fearful  shadows  crept. 

But  o'er  the  dale  where  Silence  stood, 

With  tranquil  dews  austerely  crowned, 
A  wilder  glory  touched  the  wood, — 
A  sense  of  things  profound. 

And  subtlier  on  the  enchanted  air 

The  moonlight's  nacre  seemed  to  melt, 
While  mosses  like  a  witch's  hair 
Stirred  to  a  wind  unfelt. 


109 


MOONLIGHT  IN  <fHE  PINES 

And,  like  a  messenger  of  night, 
Mystical,  ominous  and  sloWj 
A  fragile  moth,  in  purposed  flight, 
Went  past  on  wings  of  snow. 

It  may  have  been  that  elder  pow'rs 
Stood,  immaterial,  in  the  glade; 
Perchance  the  moon's  phantasmal  flow'rs 
At  shrines  unseen  were  laid. 

For  in  those  isles  it  seemed  there  shone 

Forsaken  marbles,  pure  and  cold — 
The  gleam  of  altars  overthrown 
And  ghostly  fanes  of  old. 

And  since  that  hour  the  night  can  thrill 

With  haunting  chords  by  day  unstirred, 
And  Beauty's  lips,  refusing  still, 
Move  with  a  secret  word. 


1 10 


AT  THE  GRAVE  OF  SERRA 

'Tis  midnight,  and  the  Eagle  seeks  the  sea, 

Which,  near  at  hand,  eternally  intones 

Its  woe  immeasurable.    Thro  the  pane 

Of  yonder  casement  giving  on  the  south, 

The  moonlight  holds  a  chill  and  gleaming  shaft 

Above  the  grave  where  Serra  sleeps.      O  heart! 

Flaming,  audacious  heart,  so  long  in  dust! 

'Twas  thy  reward  to  die  ere  died  thy  works, 

To  perish,  ere  the  Vision  too  was  fled. 

The  vineyard  and  the  orchard  and  the  fold 

Have  passed,  and  passed  as  well  that  other  Flock 

Thy  tenderest  concern,  O  spirit  pure! 

Who,  in  an  age  of  infamy  and  gold 

Saw  souls  alone.    The  timbers  of  thy  fane 


ill 


A<f  THE  GRAFE  OF  SERRA 

Have  men  at  last  renewed;  but  where  are  they, 

The  humble,  dusky  thousands  of  thy  care*? 

One  mould  with  thee!      About  thy  place  of  sleep 

The  futile,  peering  pleasure-seekers  come, 

Glance,  and  forget.     Thy  kin  in  Christ  draw  near, 

Little  in  numbers  now,  and  less  in  faith; 

For  where  the  faith  that  grasped  thee  like  a  hand 

And  led  thee  on  to  peril  and  to  pain*? 

The  lamp  burns  low.      They  ask  for  them  a  sign. 

Thou  Power  unseen  whose  hands  implacable 
Close  in  despair  what  man  begins  in  hope, — 
Unto  what  end,  O  Fate!  unto  what  end 
Dost  thou  hale  forth  on  quests  irradiant 
Thy  nobler  sons?      Is  duty  but  a  jest, 
Seeing  its  guerdon  given  ?      In  thy  sight 
Is  Goodness  even  as  Evil?      Shall  she  find 
Her  wages  also  death"?      Wilt  thou  deride 
Our  ancient  search  for  justice  in  thy  ways? 


112 


<fHE  GRAFE  OF  SERRA 


With  bitter  viands  evermore  appease 
Our  hunger  and  our  thirst  for  righteousness? 
Dost  fashion  beauty  for  a  moth's  desire, 
And  sow  thee  life  to  garner  thee  but  dust? 

The  soundless  grave  is  not  more  still  than  Thou, 
The  moon  less  husht  in  heaven  .  .  .  About  my  feet 
The  shadows  change   ...   I  hear  the  unchanging 
sea. 


WHITE  MAGIC 

Keep  ye  her  brow  with  starshine  crost 
And  bind  with  ghostly  light  her  hair, 

O  powers  benign,  lest  I  accost 
Song's  peaceless  angel  unaware! 

One  eve  her  whisper  came  to  earth, 
As  eastward  woke  a  thorny  star, 

To  tell  me  of  her  kingdom's  worth 
And  what  her  liberations  are: 

She  hath  the  Edens  in  her  gift 

And  songs  of  sovereignties  unborn; 

In  realms  agone  her  turrets  lift, 

Wrought  from  the  purples  of  the  morn, 


114 


WHIfE  MAGIC 

Where  swings  to  foam  the  dusky  sea, 
She  waits  with  sapphires  in  her  hand 

Whose  light  shall  make  thy  spirit  be 
Lost  in  a  still,  enchanted  land. 

Musing,  she  hears  the  subtle  tunes 

From  chords  where  faery  fingers  stray- 

A  rain  of  pearl  from  crumbling  moons 
Less  clear  and  delicate  than  they. 

The  strain  we  lost  and  could  not  find 
Think  we  her  haunted  heart  forgets? 

She  weaves  it  with  a  troubled  wind 
And  twilight  music  that  regrets. 

Often  she  stands,  unseen,  aloof, 
To  watch  beside  an  ocean's  brink 

The  gorgeous,  evanescent  woof 

Cast  from  the  loom  of  suns  that  sink. 


WHIfE  MAGIC 

Often,  in  eyries  of  the  West, 
She  waits  a  lover  from  afar — 

Frailties  of  blossom  on  her  breast 
And  o'er  her  brow  the  evening  star. 

She  stands  to  greet  him  unaware, 
Who  cannot  find  her  if  he  seek: 

A  sigh,  a  scent  of  heavenly  hair — 
And  oh,  her  breath  is  on  his  cheek! 


116 


THREE  SONNETS  BY  THE  NIGHT  SEA 


Surely  the  dome  of  unremembered  nights 

Was  heavy  with  those  stars !     The  peaceless  sea, 
Casting  in  foam  their  fallen  shafts  to  me 

Makes  ancient  music  to  their  awful  heights. 

O  quenchless  and  insuperable  lights! 

What  life  shall  meet  your  gaze  and  thence  go  free 
From  litten  midnights  of  eternity 

To  havens  open  to  your  final  flights? 

Abides  nor  goal  nor  ultimate  of  peace, 
Nor  lifts  a  beacon  on  the  cosmic  deep 

To  guide  our  wandering  world  on  seas  sublime, 
Nor  any  night  to  grant  the  soul  release, 
Swung  as  a  pendulum  from  life  to  sleep, 
From  sleep  to  life,  from  Timelessness  to  Time. 


117 


<?HREE  SONNETS  BT  <?HE  NIGH<f  SEA 


II 


Now,  as  I  hear  upon  the  caverned  night 
The  ocean's  ceaseless  and  stupendous  dirge, 
And  one  by  one  the  stars  approach  its  verge, 

The  deep  seems  all  one  prayer,  and  the  light 

Of  farthest  suns  but  questions  for  the  sight 
Of  men  who  yet  may  test  the  Dark,  to  urge 
Life's  portent  from  the  starlight  and  the  surge, 

And  read  the  ancient  Mystery  aright. 

Do  blinded  powers  from  their  darkness  seek, 
Thro  human  sight,  that  secret  to  attain? 

From  fonts  how  distant  is  the  spirit  fed? 
And  who  are  we?     And  is  it  we  who  speak 
The  Why  we  utter  to  the  night  of  pain, 
The  Whither  to  the  unresponding  dead? 


118 


fHREE  SONNETS  BT  <fHE  NIGH?  SEA 


III 


Thou  seemest  inexhaustible,  O  sea! 
And  infinite  of  nature;  yet  I  know 
That  by  divine  permission  could  we  go 

Within  thy  sealed  and  silent  deeps,  and  be 

Of  all  thy  glooms  and  treasuries  made  free, 
The  soul  at  last  each  marvel  would  outgrow, 
Till  each  were  vain  as  festal  fires  that  glow 

Beneath  the  stars'  immortal  scrutiny. 

And  were  all  alien  worlds  and  suns  laid  bare 
Till  Mystery  their  secret  should  declare, 

The  finite  soon  its  utmost  would  impart, 
And  sun  nor  world  at  last  have  power  to 

thrill 
Man's  wayward  and  insatiable  heart, 

Which  God  and  all  His  truth  alone  can  fill. 


119 


AFTER  THE  STORM 

O  turquoise  morn! 
Had  earth  a  sorrow? 
The  happy  larks,  sing  they 
To-day  or  yesterday, 
Or  some  enchanted  morrow 
And  winds  unborn? 

To  slopes  of  green, 
Only  the  brook  can  tell — 
In  low,  elusive  tones 
On  smooth  and  fluting  stones — 
Where  flow  the  rains  that  fell 

By  night,  unseen. 

Ghost-moon,  what  way 
Wouldst  thou  be  riding? 

120 


JFfER  THE  STORM 

On  day's  blue  diamond 
Thou  art  a  flaw!      Beyond, 
I  know,  the  stars  are  hiding, 
Ere  dusk  betray. 

I  would  not  see; 
For  now  the  day  is  new, 
And  now  a  yellow  flow'r 
Suffices  to  the  hour — 
That,  and  a  star  of  dew 

It  hoards  for  me. 


121 


THE  HARLOT'S  WAKENING 

Ere  dawn  a  spirit  took  my  hand, 

And  once  again,  a  joyous  child, 
I  roamed  an  unforgotten  land 

Of  orchards  fresh  and  mild. 

How  fair  the  apple-blossoms  were! 

How  cool  the  long-delaying  breeze! 
Where,  half-asleep,  I  heard  the  stir 
And  hum  of  happy  bees. 

Clear  in  the  meadow  ran  the  brook, 
From  pool  to  pool,  in  liquid  grace, 
A  glass  o'er  which  I  bent  to  look 
At  my  enmirrored  face — 

122 


THE  HARLOTS  WAKENING 

A  girlish  face,  with  placid  brow 

All-innocent  of  care  and  hate, — 
With  eyes  I  cannot  fathom  now 
And  lips  undesecrate. 

My  sister's  laugh,  my  brother's  call — 

So  would  the  morning  larks  rejoice! 
But  nearer,  dearer  far  than  all, 

I  heard  my  mother's  voice. 

Her  voice?      Or  did  a  music  break 

Across  the  street's  harsh  sea 
Whose  thunder  deepens?    Christ!    I  wake 
To  miserable  me! 


123 


THE  MIDGES 

Alcon,   the  wood-god,  wandering  his  realm, 

Found  his  son  Astries  in  the  meadowland 

At  sunset,  squatted  on  a  fallen  pine 

And  much  intent  upon  a  swarm  of  gnats. 

To  whom  the  godling:      "Father,  I  have  stayed 

This  hour  to  wonder  at  yon  tiny  folk, 

Who  dart,  and  hum,  and  make  so  much  a-do, 

Mad  with  the  sunlight.      What  it  is  they  seek 

And  whom  they  praise,  and  why,  I  do  not  know; 

But  as  the  hour  grows  old,  and  twilight  hills 

Put  on  the  purple,  this  I  see — that  they 

With  wilder  zeal  do  dash  this  way  and  that, 

And  where  each  in  a  foot  of  space  had  range, 

Now  flits  he  two,  and  shriller  grows  the  cry, 


124 


<fHE  MIDGES 

Larger  the  host,  and  greater  its  concern. 
Dost  note?"     Whereat  brown  Alcon  plucked  a  root 
And  beat  it  on  the  pine,  and  briefly  spake: 
"Aye !  aye !  they  call  it  'progress' !"      And  the  sun 
Sank  on  the  forest,  and  the  night  was  chill. 


125 


PERSONAL  POEMS 


TO  AMBROSE  BIERCE 

I  saw  a  statue  in  the  market-place — 
The  guerdon  of  a  life  of  noble  toil. 
Austerely  shone  the  marble  that  should  foil 

Oblivion,  tho'  the  desecrated  base, 

Round  which  the  sullen  huckster  trod,  bore  trace 
Of  dogs'  defilement — transitory  moil 
That  expiating  rains  would  soon  assoil; 

But  oh,  the  sunlight  on  that  tranquil  face! 

What  to  the  Titan  were  the  mindless  deed, 

Mire-born,  and  swiftly  with  the  mire  made  one? 
No  more  than  could  the  marble  couldst  thou  heed 
The  mongrel,  and  the  hate  of  souls  uncouth — 
Thou  eagle  who  hast  gazed  upon  the  sun 

And  canst  endure  the  light  which  is  the  truth ! 


126 


PERSONAL  POEMS 


TO  HALL  B.  RAND 

Happy  the  man  whose  age  attains 
Repute  and  rank  among  the  best! 

Whose  soul  no  breath  of  rumor  stains 
Nor  hath  remorse  for  daily  guest. 

On  him  the  years  as  laurels  sit, 
For  Duty  at  his  side  hath  stood; 

Thro  him  the  grateful  gods  permit 
A  living  witness  unto  good. 

Him  shall  the  love  of  men  surround, 
And  wisdom  shield  from  darker  cares, 

Who  virtue  to  the  end  hath  found 
And  honor  whiter  than  his  hairs. 


127 


PERSONAL  POEMS 


TO  VERNON  L.  KELLOGG 

'Tis  well,  that  man  is  slow  to  cry  "Alas!" — 
That  Nature's  heart  seems  eager  to  atone 
For  music  often  ending  in  a  moan 

By  silence  tender  with  the  peace  it  has; 

But  ever,  as  on  morning  ways  I  pass, 

I  see  the  fields  with  hints  of  terror  sown — 
A  tuft  of  fur,  or  small  and  bleaching  bone, 

Or  heap  of  little  feathers  in  the  grass. 

How  fares  it  with  the  lesser  wards  of  life4? — 
Always  they  seem  so  restless,  so  alert. 

Is  fear  to  them  an  unrelenting  care — 
The  spirit  of  that  dumb  and  ravenous  strife 
No  Power  will  justify  and  none  avert'? 

And  in  the  deep — 'tis  well  we  see  not  there! 


128 


PERSONAL  POEMS 


CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD 

O  Muse!  within  thy  western  hall, 
To  mellow  chord  and  crystal  string, 
At  many  harps  thy  chosen  sing: 

His  was  the  gentlest  soul  of  all. 

He  sang  not  as  the  leaping  faun 
By  voiceless  rivers  cool  and  clear, 
Nor  yet  as  chants  the  visioned  seer 

When  darkness  trembles  with  the  dawn. 

A  milder  music  held  his  lyre — 
A  wistful  strain,  all  human-sweet, 
Between  the  ashes  at  our  feet 

And  stars  that  pass  in  alien  fire. 


129 


PERSONAL  POEMS 

His  skies  were  sombre,  but  he  lit 
His  garden  with  a  lamp  of  gold, 
Where  tropic  laughters  left  untold 

The  sadness  buried  in  his  wit. 

Lonely,  he  harbored  to  the  last 

A  boyish  spirit,  large  and  droll; 

Tardy  of  flesh  and  swift  of  soul, 
He  walked  with  angels  of  the  Past. 

With  tears  his  laurels  still  are  wet; 

But  now  we  smile,  whose  hearts  have  known 
The  fault  that  harmed  himself  alone, — 

The  art  that  left  a  world  in  debt. 

Of  all  he  said,  I  best  recall: 

"He  knows  the  sky  who  knows  the  sod, 
And  he  who  loves  a  flower,  loves  God." 

Sky,  flower  and  sod,  he  loved  them  all. 


130 


PERSONAL  POEMS 

From  all  he  wrote  (not  for  his  day), 
A  sense  of  marvel  drifts  to  me — 
Of  morning  on  a  purple  sea, 

And  fragrant  islands  far  away. 


PERSONAL  POEMS 

THE  ASHES  IN  THE  SEA 

N.  M.  F. 

Whither,  with  blue  and  pleading  eyes, — 

Whither,  with  cheeks  that  held  the  light 
Of  winter's  dawn  on  cloudless  skies, 
Evadne,  was  thy  flight? 

Such  as  a  sister's  was  thy  brow; 

Thy  hair  seemed  fallen  from  the  moon — 
Part  of  its  radiance,  as  now 

Of  shifting  tide  and  dune. 

Did  Autumn's  grieving  lure  thee  hence, 

Or  silence  ultimate  beguile? 
Ever  our  things  of  consequence 
Awakened  but  thy  smile. 

132 


PERSONAL  POEMS 

Is  it  with  thee  that  ocean  takes 

A  stranger  sorrow  to  its  tone*? 
With  thee  the  star  of  evening  wakes 
More  beautiful,  more  lone? 

For  wave  and  hill  and  sky  betray 

A  subtle  tinge  and  touch  of  thee; 
Thy  shadow  lingers  in  the  day, 
Thy  voice  in  winds  to  be. 

Beauty — hast  thou  discovered  her 

By  deeper  seas  no  moons  control? 
What  stars  have  magic  now  to  stir 
Thy  swift  and  wilful  soul? 

Or  may  thy  heart  no  more  forget 

The  grievous  world  that  once  was  home, 
That  here,  where  love  awaits  thee  yet, 
Thou  seemest  yet  to  roam? 


133 


PERSONAL  POEMS 

For  most,   far- wandering,   I  guess 

Thy  witchery  on  the  haunted  mind, 
In  valleys  of  thy  loneliness, 

Made  clean  with  ocean's  wind. 

And  most  thy  presence  here  seems  told, 

A  waif  of  elemental  deeps, 
When,  at  its  vigils  unconsoled, 

Some  night  of  winter  weeps. 


134 


THE  FORTY-THIRD  CHAPTER  OF  JOB 

1.  Moreover,  the  Lord  made  question  of  Job,  and 
asked, 

2.  To  what  end  dost  thou  search  Me,  seeing  that 
My  wisdom  is  not  as  thine? 

3.  Shalt  thou  question  My  ways,  or  have  dreams 
concerning  My  justice?     Am  not  I  the  Lord? 

4.  Who  hath  strange  laughter,  Whose  judgments 
are  not  as  those  of  the  elders; 

5.  Who  leadeth  the  lamb  from  the  den  of  the  she- 
wolf,   and  armies  to  the  quicksand; 

6.  Who  slayeth  the  prince  in  his  youth,  and  rulers 
at  their  marriage-feast,  but  maketh  the  slave 
to  grow  old  in  his  bondage; 

7.  Whose  rains  go  forth  on  bitter  waters,  tho  the 
land  thirsteth;  Who  delivereth  thee  from  the 
javelin  thou  beholdest  not; 

8.  Who  maketh  the  king  in  his  secret  place  and  him 


135 


THE  FORfT-fHIRD  CHAPTER  OF  JOB 

that  the  vultures  did  devour  to  sleep  the  same 
sleep; 

9.  Who  confoundeth  the  sea,  but  leadeth  the  ant 
to  her  desire. 

10.  Have  not  I  sharpened   the   beak   of   the   kite 
against  the  day  of  thy  hope;  the  raven's  beak 
against  the  eyes  of  thy  young  men*? 

1 1.  I  shall  bar  thee  from  thy  joy  with  a  thread  of 
gossamer;  I  shall  bind  thy  sin  to  thy  children's 
children  with  ropes  of  adamant. 

12.  The  rock  is  a  bolt  for  My  treasure-house.    Thou 
knockest  in  vain  upon  the  doors  thereof. 

13.  Who  art  thou  that  eternity  should  hold  parley 
with  thee,  or  the  pits  of  the  sky  be  thy  fortress4? 

14.  Thou  abidest  in  My  sight  as  the  smoke  of  a 
sacrifice,  or  as  the  grey  moth  in  the  conspection 
of  the  stars. 

15.  What  hast  thou  if  thou  hast  not  Me*?     Thou 
takest  to  thee  strange  wine,  and  the  kiss  of  the 
asp  that  it  comfort  thee. 

136 


<?HE  FORfT-fHIRD  CHAPTER  OF  JOB 

16.  Awake,  let  it  be  always  day  with  thee!     Know 
that  I  am  the  Lord, 

17.  Who  ordaineth  His  truth  as  the  mountains,  and 
the  dust  as  stars  that  conceive; 

18.  Who  teacheth  fear  with  an  arrow,  and  bitter 
wisdom  to  thy  young  men  of  war; 

19.  Who  boundeth  pain  by  peace,   and  setteth  a 
term  unto  love; 

20.  Who  hath  no  truce  with  the  day,  and  slayeth 
the  dark  with  the  sword  of  mighty  mornings; 

21.  Who  buildeth  the  house  of  life  with  colored 
beams,  and  the  house  of  death  without  a  door; 

22.  Who  hath  set  harps  in  hell,  and  given  pure 
gold  for  the  winding  sheet  of  kings; 

23.  By  Whose  breath  are  the  Signs  shaken;  as  a 
swarm  of  gnats  are  they  troubled  by  the  wind 
of  His  passing; 

24.  Who  yoketh  stars  to  His  harrow,  and  the  whirl- 
wind to  drag  his  plough  on  great  waters. 


137 


<fHE  FORfT-fHIRD  CHAPTER  OF  JOB 

25.  Take  counsel  of  Me ;  behold  what  shapes  I  have 
set  as  My  servants. 

26.  The  sun  is  a  coal  of  My  hearth,  the  moon  an 
ember  that  I  have  quenched; 

27.  Shall  not  I  make  her  a  desolation,  and  a  rock 
where  devils  worship? 

28.  Shall  not  My  gulfs  conceive,  and  Mine  angels 
whet  their  scythes  against  the  day  of  My  reap- 
ing? 

29.  Be  thou  abased,  for  they  are  yet  unborn  that 
shall  lay  thee  out;  the  worm  is  unhatched  that 
shall  consume  thee. 

30.  Wilt  thou  hold  forth  to  Me  thy  heart  in  thy 
hand;  or  turn  for  Me  its  leaves  that  thou  hast 
writ? 

31.  Thy  wisdom  profiteth  thee  nothing,  neither  the 
guards  within  thy  citadels. 

32.  Shall  I  consider  for  long  the  mighty,  or  the 
habitations  of  the  strong? 


138 


THE  FORfT-fHIRD  CHAPTER  OF  JOB 

33.  Behold !  blood  shall  be  in  their  courts  for  wine, 
and  the  moaning  of  their  concubines  for  the 
voice  of  the  viol. 

34.  I  shall  break  their  temples  as  a  shard;  their 
high  pillars  shall  be  snapt  as  a  bow-string. 

35.  My  tempests  shall  neigh  in  the  walled  cities; 
My  grass  shall  lift  up  her  sword  against  them; 

36.  The  toad  shall  be  judge  there;  the  jackal  shall 
collect  the  tax; 

37.  The  owl  shall  feed  her  young  on  their  altars; 
the  dung  of  lions  shall  be  thereon  for  a  testi- 
mony. 

38.  Wert  thou  upon  the  flint  when  I  confirmed  it, 
or  upon  the  granite  when  I  laid  its  sheets? 

39.  The  thunder,  was  it  thou  that  didst  call?    Was 
the  rain  the  tears  of  thy  bringing-forth? 

40.  Be  thou  bowed  down,  nor  question  the  pains 
that  I  have  set  over  thee:  for  each  thing  have 
I  ordained  its  shadow. 

41.  My  thoughts  are  from  eternity;  I  change  not 

139 


<?HE  FOR<fT-<fHIRD  CHAPTER  OF  JOB 

by  reason  of  thy  dismay.      Thou  shalt  know 
Me  for  the  Lord. 

42.  Who  setteth  Capella  and  Achernar  to  be  gods 
for  a  term,  and  a  guide  upon  the  deep  to  strange 
peoples; 

43.  Who  maketh  Altair  and  Rigel  the  captains  of 
His  host;  Who  leaneth  His  spear  upon  Sirius 
ere  the  trumpets  call; 

44.  Who  holdeth  Vega  His  armor-bearer,  and  hang- 
eth  his  buckler  upon  Aldebaran; 

45.  Who  hath  convoked  their  chariots  against  the 
lamps  of  Evil,  and  their  swords  against  the 
abyss. 

46.  Who  healeth  the  day  with  night,  and  thy  heart's 
wound  with  the  hands  of  little  children; 

47.  Even  they  that  seek  the  breast    in    darkness, 
hushing  the  voices  that  were  aforetime. 

48.  The  wind  cometh,  the  dust  is  troubled  for  a 
season,  but  hath  rest  when  the  wind  departeth. 


140 


